Matchmaker

               by Ann Douglas 

 

             "Monica."

 

            The sound of her name caused Monica Doyle to look up from the envelopes she'd just removed from the mailbox and glance past the open vestibule door into the hallway beyond.  The twenty-four year old smiled when she saw the white haired septuagenarian stepping out of the front apartment, but delayed a response until the woman closed and locked her door, taking those few moments to lock her mailbox as well.  

 

            "Good afternoon, Mrs. Pulaski,"  Monica said as the woman turned back in her direction.

 

            "Good afternoon, Monica,"  the building owner echoed as Monica stepped into the hallway.  "I'm so glad to see you.  I was beginning to worry that you might have gotten stuck at work again."

 

            Monica glanced at the watch on her wrist, noting that she was indeed running about a half hour late, but confused as to why that would've worried Sylvia.

 

            "I would've been so disappointed if you had to miss our dinner tonight,"  the older woman said, almost as if she had heard Monica's unanswered question.

 

            "Dinner?"  Monica said, making it more of a question than a statement.

 

            "You haven't forgotten, have you?"  Sylvia asked, a touch of disappointment clear in her tone.

 

            'Oh God, was that tonight?'  Monica asked herself, having so put the invitation out of her mind that she had indeed forgotten it.

 

            The brown haired veterinary assistant was just finishing up what had indisputably been an extremely trying day, made all the more so by one of her co-workers at the Westside Animal Clinic going home sick after lunch.  It had been too late in the day to call in a replacement, so Monica had to do double duty for the rest of it.  All she wanted to do now was have a bit of dinner and crash in front of the television.

 

            That notion, however, vanished in the wind as she saw the look of expectation on her landlady's face.  She had indeed promised Sylvia that she would come and didn't have it in her heart to disappoint her now.

 

            "Of course not,"  Monica lied, putting on a look of expectation even as she tried to imagine an excuse she could use to make only a abbreviated appearance at dinner.  One that wouldn't hurt the old lady's feelings.

 

            "Excellent,"  Sylvia said her smile returning.  "I just have to run around to the corner grocery for a minute, but dinner should be ready about six-fifteen." 

 

            With that she was gone. 

 

                                                -=-=-=-=-

 

            Monica had lived in one of the second floor apartments of the two story walkup seven months now, and up until six weeks ago had little contact with the owner other than dropping off her rent.  In fact, that was what  she had been doing the night the elderly widow had come to the door in a state of panic.  Her beloved poodle, Puddles, had gotten a small bone stuck in his throat and was choking.  Reacting instinctively, Monica had picked up the small dog and used a technique she'd learned at the clinic to safely dislodge the bone.

 

            From that point on, Mrs. Pulaski never missed an opportunity to show her gratitude.  Every simple hello carried an inquiry if she needed anything and, more days than not, Sylvia would just show up at her door with a treat from her kitchen.  Monica didn't mind too much, especially since the treats were usually delicious.  At least she hadn't minded until two weeks ago when Sylvia's desire to do something nice for Monica expanded to include an interest in her love life.  Or more precisely, her lack of one.

 

            "No one should be alone,"  Sylvia had told her one night over tea and cookies, "especially not someone as young and pretty as you."

 

            Monica tried to explain that her work schedule allowed little time for dating.  In fact, it had been her work hours that had been a primary cause in the collapse of her last serious relationship - just before she'd moved into Sylvia's building. 

 

            "Nonsense, if something is really important, you make the time,"  Sylvia insisted, thinking that a poor excuse.   

 

            Thinking that agreeing with the older woman was the easiest way to put the subject behind her, Monica  promised to make more of an effort to meet someone.  No sooner had those words left her mouth than she realized her mistake.

 

            "Wonderful, I'm so glad you feel that way,"  Sylvia pounced with the intensity of a jungle cat,  "because it just so happens that I have a very nice grandson, Andrew is his name, and I think the two of you would really hit it off."

 

            Before Monica could say a word to discourage her, Sylvia was expounding a well practiced litany of the virtues of her only single grandchild.  Including the fact that he was thirty-two years old, quite handsome, in her unbiased opinion, well educated, and a partner in an up and coming accounting firm. 

 

            "He does sound quite nice,"  Monica said as she tried to think of an excuse that would express her disinterest without hurting Sylvia's feelings.  Finally she settled on the fact that the clinic was understaffed at the moment and she didn't know when she would be able to find the time to meet Andrew. 

 

            An excuse that was repeated each time Sylvia brought the subject up.  Eventually, Monica hoped, the older woman would decide it was a lost cause and give up on it.  What she didn't realize was that women like Sylvia Morgan thrived on lost causes. 

 

            After two weeks, though, Andrew's name stopped coming up and Monica erroneously concluded that Sylvia had finally gotten the message.  With the matter no longer on her mind, Monica didn't think twice when she replied to a casual inquiry about her weekend plans from her neighbor across the hall, Jane Walsh. 

 

            "No plans at all,"  she told the curly haired blonde as they passed each other on the stairs.  "I'm just glad to finally have a weekend off."

           

            It wasn't until she reached the base of the landing that she saw Sylvia standing by the basement door, a basket of laundry in her hand.

 

            "Did I just hear you say that you were off this weekend?"  Sylvia asked, the excitement in her voice quite clear. 

 

            "Well, yes,"  Monica said after a brief  hesitation, adding in way of explanation,  "there was a last minute change in schedules."

 

            "Wonderful,"  Sylvia beamed. "because it just so happens that Andrew has Broadway  tickets for this Saturday night. He originally asked me to go, but I know he'd much rather take a pretty girl instead."

 

            Taking a breath, Monica glanced up the stairs where she saw that Jane had lingered just long enough to have overheard the exchange.  The blonde gave Monica a look of sympathy, then vanished into the front apartment.  As she closed the door behind her, Jane was thankful that she had a steady boyfriend and her days of being fixed up were long behind her.    

 

            'Truth time,'  Monica thought as she turned her attention back to Sylvia, hoping what the nice woman wouldn't be offended by what she was about to say.

 

            "Sylvia, I need to tell you something,"  Monica said, taking a second long breath,  "something that I probably should've told you right in the beginning."

 

            Sylvia looked at her with a mix of confusion and interest.

 

            "I'm sure that Andrew is as wonderful a person as you described him to be,"  Monica said,  "but the thing is, I don't date … men."

 

            "Oh?"  Sylvia said, her tone and expression saying that she didn't immediately catch Monica's meaning. 

 

            Rather than trying to clarify it further, at least immediately, Monica decided to give Sylvia a few more moments to think about it. 

 

            "You mean you're a …"  Sylvia started to say, hesitating on the word lest she be wrong.

 

            Monica smiled and nodded her head slowly in the affirmative.

 

            "Oh,"  Sylvia repeated, this time with a clear understanding.

 

            Ever since coming out in her freshman year of college, Monica had faced moments like this with trepidation.  It was impossible to know how anyone was going to react when she told them.  Friends who she'd thought would freak merely shrugged their shoulders, while others she thought of as family unexpectedly disappeared from her life.

 

            "My dear, why didn't you simply tell me that in the first place?"  the old woman laughed.  "I never would've tried to fix you up with my Andrew.  Lord, what a disaster that would've been."  

 

            "I guess I wasn't sure how you would take it,"  Monica replied, recalling, but not mentioning, that one of her own aunts, a decade younger than Sylvia, had called her a disgusting pervert and not spoken to her since. 

 

            "Well, I know that some folks my age have a problem with that sort of thing,"  Sylvia said, almost if she had read Monica's mind,  "but we're not all homophobic idiots.  I'll simply have to find someone else for Andrew."

 

            "You don't know how glad I am that you understand,"  Monica said, her sense of relief quite genuine.

 

            "Think nothing of it, child,"  Sylvia replied.  "We are what we are, and that can't be changed."

 

            'It's a pity that you didn't have a granddaughter instead,"  Monica laughed, caught up in the moment.

 

            "Sorry, no granddaughter,"  Sylvia smiled, a fact Monica already knew from earlier conversations,  "but, since you brought it up, I do have a great-niece who is a year and a half older than Andrew.  Heather is her name and you know what, she doesn't date men either."

 

            Before Monica could say another word, Sylvia had said that it just also so happened that Heather was coming to dinner this Friday night.  What better opportunity for the two of them to meet?

 

            "This Friday?"  Monica said, trying to stall while she desperately tried to come up with a way to graciously decline.

 

            "Yes,"  Sylvia confirmed.  "I did hear you tell Jane that you didn't have any plans, didn't I?"

 

            "Yes, you did,"  Monica said with a barely perceptible touch of resignation. 

 

            "Wonderful,"  Sylvia beamed.  "I know you and Heather are going to get along splendidly.  Not like that Janine she used to date, I knew that girl was trouble the first time I met her.  She was nowhere near good enough for my Heather.  Breaking up with her was the best thing that could've happened."

 

            That last comment sent a warning bell off in Monica's head.  Rebound relationships were on her short list of things to be absolutely avoided.  Circumspectly, she inquired how long ago that had been.

 

            "Oh, it must've been two, no, make that three months ago,"  Sylvia replied.  "Don't you worry, dear, I'm sure she's totally over her by now."       

 

            'Oh yeah,' Monica heard her inner voice say even as she forced a smile, 'three months is more than enough time.' 

 

            Still, there  was little she could do but resign herself to dinner with Sylvia and her great-niece.  How bad could it be, she asked herself, not really wanting to consider an answer.


                                                -=-=-=-=-


            Closing the door to her apartment behind her, Monica stepped into the small living room and dropped down on the couch, letting out a very loud sigh as she did.  As not looking forward to dinner as she was, Monica promised herself that she would nevertheless be as sociable as possible.  Even if Heather turned out to be the disaster most fix-ups, at least in her experience, turned out to be.  
 

            A glance down at the slightly stained scrubs she had worn home reminded Monica that she needed to hop in the shower before changing clothes.  She might be used to the smell of the animals she handled all day, but others weren't so acclimated.  Normally, she would change and wash up before leaving the clinic, but, the way the day had gone, she had rushed out the minute her shift was done. 

 

            Once in the bathroom, she stripped off her scrubs and the underwear beneath it, depositing both in the hamper.  Reaching past the shower curtain around the old fashioned bear claw tub, she turned on the taps, adjusting the water mix until it was a comfortable temperature.  Then she turned the small lever that sent it through a rubber hose up to the showerhead, letting it sprinkle downward another few moments before climbing in under it.

 

            Monica closed her eyes and lifted her head, allowing the warmth of the water to engulf her.  A hot shower at the end of a bad day was something she looked forward to.  As she enjoyed the wetness against her skin, she let her mind wander and found herself entertaining a hopeful possibility. 

 

            'What if, this time, things turn out different?'  she thought,  'Heather and I might actually hit it off.'  

 

            As nice a notion as that was, Monica dismissed the idea almost as quickly as it had formed.  Things like that only happened in Lifetime movies, not real life. 

 

            Stepping out from under the shower stream, Monica reached for a pouf sponge and body wash, working both across her body until it was covered with a thick, soapy lather.  A slippery film that allowed her hand to smoothly roam back and forth across her upper body. 

 

            "Mmmmm,"  Monica moaned softly as her motions sent small ripples of pleasure across her body. 

 

            Stepping back under the water, Monica's hand found its way deep between her legs, causing her to let out a long, soft moan as her fingers passed over her sensitive clit.  Masturbating in the shower had been one of her few joys since breaking up with her girlfriend, but Monica couldn't remember the last time she'd not been too tired at the end of the day to do so.  Now, with pleasing warmth spreading across her body, she couldn't resist.  

 

            Time slowed as her hands darted back and forth across her body, one playing with her clit while the other did the same with her breasts, bringing her equally sensitive nipples to rock hardness.  It didn't take more than a few minutes for her legs to began to feel weak beneath her and a long absent but quite familiar pressure to begin to built up inside of her. 

 

            She closed her eyes as she leaned against the far wall behind the shower curtain, her face reflecting the anticipation of the whirlwind within her.  She was close, painfully close; it would only take a little more to put her over the edge. 

 

            "Oh yes, yes,"  she whispered softly to herself as her fingers once more found her special spot,  "oh my …"

 

            Suddenly her voice went from a whisper to an excited shout, the volume of which rang off the walls. 

 

            "Fuck!"  Monica cried out in distress as the water around her abruptly turned ice cold.

 

            As fast as she could, she turned the water valves off, and with the fading shower went any desire she had to complete what she had started. As much as she loved this old building, the plumbing sometimes took unexpected turns. 

 

            "Can this day get any worse?"  Monica called out to the empty room. 

 

            This time an answer did come to her. Having totally blocked the dinner from her mind, Monica only now realized that Sylvia had never described her great-niece other than saying she was a few years older than Andrew.  She certainly hadn't shown her a photo, something she had done with Andrew a few days after she'd first mentioned him. Monica didn't want to read too much into that, but couldn't help but think that couldn't be a good sign.  She liked to think she valued personalities over looks, but even that had its limits. 

 

            Monica finished drying herself off and, wrapping the towel back around her, headed back into the bedroom.  She put on a clean bra and panties, then spent a few minutes in front of the closet deciding what to wear. After some consideration, she decided on a plain, almost conservative gray dress that she liked to think of as a 'first date' outfit - not that she'd had much occasion to wear it this last year.   

 

            Checking her appearance in the mirror, Monica was pleased with the image looking back at her.  The dress was respectable enough to wear to a casual dinner, yet at the same time showed, if not a lot of flesh, at least the shape of what was beneath it.  Her body might not be centerfold material, Monica thought, but she'd hadn't ever had a complaint from those who'd had occasion to examine it more intimately.

 

            Slipping her feet into a comfortable pair of flats, she headed for the kitchen and took a bottle of wine out of the back of the refrigerator.  The wall clock said it was half past six, just enough for her to be fashionable late, but not exceedingly so. 

 

                                                -=-=-=-=-

 

            As she might have expected, Sylvia was at the door seconds after she knocked, welcoming her as if she hadn't seen her in a week.  The elderly woman complimented her on her dress, even as she directed her towards the living room and its very comfortable couch.  

 

            "Heather called a few minutes ago,"  Sylvia mentioned as she began to step back into the kitchen to check on dinner.  "She had a bit of trouble finding a parking spot, but should be here in about ten minutes."

 

            'So much for being the last to arrive,'  Monica thought, her plan for alleviating the awkwardness of a first meeting tossed out the window.

 

            With a little time now to kill, she found herself drawn to the collection of photographs on the nearby piano, wondering which might be Heather.  

 

            "If you're looking for Heather, she's not in that bunch,"  Sylvia said as she stepped back into the room, noting Monica's interest in her collection of family photos.

 

            "I wasn't, I mean I …"  Monica hesitantly said, a bit embarrassed at having been caught.

 

            "Oh of course you were,"  Sylvia laughed.  "I know that if I was in your place, I certainly would've been."

 

            Monica smiled, realizing as she did that her curiosity was indeed only natural.

 

            "I guess I should've shown this to you in the first place,"  Sylvia said as she took a small frame off a side table on the other side of the room,  handing it to Monica.  "Its a few years old, but she hasn't really changed much."

 

            Monica tried to be nonchalant as she took the photograph, determined to act as if Heather's appearance was the furthest thing from her mind.  Especially if Heather turned out to be as plain looking as some of the other girls in the pictures she had already looked at.  The family resemblance among the cousins seemed to be quite strong - with average being the description that most came to mind.   

 

            They say there's an exception to every rule, and it appeared that Heather was it.  The woman in the picture appeared to be about twenty, an estimate partially based on the college basketball jersey she wore.  About two inches taller than Monica's five foot four, Heather had an athlete's build, which seemed appropriate, seeing that she was holding a state championship trophy in her arms.  Her blonde hair was cut exceedingly short, in an almost boyish style, framing warm, pleasant features that centered on bright brown eyes.  As much as Monica hated labels, she would have described the girl's appearance as soft butch. 

 

            "My Heather is certainly something, isn't she?"  Sylvia smiled as she looked over Monica's shoulder at the photograph. 

 

            'That she is,'  Monica thought, reminding herself at the same time that the photo had to be over a decade old.  She knew women that had undergone total transformations in less than half that span.

 

            A new question came to Monica as Sylvia headed back towards the kitchen.  If Heather still looked anything like she did in that photo, why in heaven's name would she need to be fixed up?  You would think that girls would be beating down her door.  Was there something she wasn't being told?  At face value, at least, Heather was definitely the sort of woman Monica  dreamed about, but never met outside of those imaginings.

 

            The consideration of both questions was interrupted by a knock at the door, followed a few beats later by a strong voice calling out, "Aunt Sylvia?"  One way or the other, Monica thought, she was about to get her answers. 

 

            As Sylvia headed for the door, Monica rose from the couch and moved to a few feet behind her, just close enough to be introduced once Heather had stepped inside.  She watched as Sylvia wiped her hands on her apron, then opened the apartment door.

 

            Heather had her back to Monica as she stepped in, wrapping her arms around Sylvia in a manner that prevented Monica from getting a good look at her face.  What was obvious, even from that angle, that the thirty-four year old still had a well developed physique and an even shorter hairstyle than she'd had in the photograph. 

 

            Releasing her hold on her great-aunt, Heather turned in Monica's direction, finally giving her a clear view of her.  A partially opened, green plaid shirt covered a white v-neck undershirt, both atop black jeans, which in turn topped a pair of equally black boots.  Not that Monica disliked the look, but the woman did seem a bit underdressed for a first date.

 

            Even more surprising was the look that filled Heather's face as she looked past her great-aunt and noticed Monica standing there.  After a heartbeat, she glanced back at Sylvia, then turned back to Monica. 

 

            "Hello, I'm Heather Reynolds," she said.

 

            That slight glance had spoken volumes.  Monica was willing to bet her paycheck that she was a total surprise and that Sylvia hadn't told Heather anything about having invited a guest to dinner.  Especially one she was trying to fix her up with.

 

            "Hi, I'm Monica Doyle, I live upstairs,"  she replied.  "Your aunt was kind enough to invite me to dinner." 

 

            "Nice to meet you, Monica,"  Heather said, the surprise on her face now replaced by a warm smile.

 

            "Why don't you two girls have a seat in the living room and I'll call you when dinner is ready,"  Sylvia said, urging them in that direction with gentle hand motions.

 

            The two young women did so, with Monica returning to her seat on the couch and Heather taking the chair just off to the right.  They'd barely sat down before Monica leaned over to Heather.

 

            "Heather, it's obvious that you had no idea that I was going to be here,"  she said.  "So if it's a problem in any way, I'll make my apologies to Sylvia and head back upstairs.  I've had a real long day anyway so saying I'm a bit tired really wouldn't be much of a stretch."

 

            "Nonsense,"  Heather replied,  "there's no reason for you to leave.  Believe me, this is hardly the first time my aunt has done this to me.  She likes to think of herself as the family matchmaker and I've pretty much gotten used to it by now."

 

            "Okay, then I'll stay,"   Monica responded, glad that Heather had insisted that she do so. 

 

            "I'm probably stating the obvious,"  Heather added,  "but I'm assuming you like girls.  Otherwise, you'd probably be sitting across from my cousin Andrew instead of me right now."

 

            "Actually, she originally tried to fix me up with Andrew,"  Monica offered.     

 

            "Well, it's a good thing you told her you weren't into guys,"  Heather interjected with a grin.  "I love my cousin, but there's a reason why he's still single and boring doesn't even begin to cover it."

 

            "Well, to be honest, it took me almost two weeks to get up the courage to tell her that I wasn't into guys.  I was so worried that she might have a problem with that."

 

            "Aunt Sylvia?"  Heather asked in a mix of surprise and laughter.  "Honey, that's the last thing you'd ever have to worry about with her."

 

            Heather paused for a second, then elaborated.

 

            "I'm guessing that she hasn't told you yet any of the stories about her escapades in the early days of television back in the mid-fifties, when she was right out of high school,"  the older girl added, mirth still in her voice.  "She used to say that just about every third person in the industry was either gay or bi, and even those that were totally straight usually spent so much time bed-hopping that you needed a scorecard to keep track of who was sleeping with whom."

 

            "Really?"  Monica said, greatly surprised since she never imagined people being that openly sexual back in those days.  To listen to her grandmother, people barely had sex inside of marriage, much less what Heather just described.

 

            "Oh come on, you don't think that we're the first generation to get our freak on, do you?"  Heather asked as she noted the look of surprise on Monica's face.

 

            "I guess not,"  Monica smiled.  "I guess I just really never thought that much about it.  I mean, after all, who ever imagines their parents, much less their grandparents, doing the nasty?"

 

            "Well, after listening to some of Sylvia's stories, I certainly can,"  Heather grinned.

 

            "You mean she ..."  Monica heard herself ask, pausing in mid-question as she realized how inappropriate the question was.    

 

            Heather, on the other hand, didn't seem to think the question out of line at all. 

 

            "I've never asked it outright, so I can't say for sure,"  Heather replied, gesturing to a black and white photograph of a very attractive woman in her early twenties, the resemblance to their hostess evident even across a half century,  "but I always got the impression, from the way she talked about it, that she had been quite in the thick of it at the time."     

 

            "In the thick of what?"  Sylvia asked, having heard the tail end of the comment as she walked into the room with a tray of fruit drinks and appetizers in hand.

 

            "Oh, nothing, Aunt Sylvia,"  Heather said, flashing Monica a conspiratorial smile which she shared.

 

            "I'm afraid dinner will be at least another fifteen or twenty minutes,"  Sylvia said as she laid the tray down between them on the coffee table.  "So I thought you might like something to snack on in the meantime."

 

            Then, just as quickly as she'd appeared, Sylvia retreated back to the kitchen. 

 

            "Well, since I'm sure she actually planned that so that we'd have some get acquainted time, why don't we do that?"  Heather suggested as she picked up one of the glasses and took a small sip.

 

            "Sounds like a good idea,"  Monica agreed,  volunteering to go first.

 

            Long ago, back when she'd first started dating outside her immediate circle, Monica had worked out three capsule biographies.  Which one she used was based on the person she was trying to impress.  It only took a few seconds to decide that Heather called for version B.  A choice that proved correct, as not only did the other woman seem genuinely interested, she interrupted three times to ask questions. 

 

            Then it was Heather's turn and Monica listened with equal interest as she described her life as a loan officer for Northside Savings and Trust.  Of greater interest, however, was her brief but telling mention of her last girlfriend, the one that Sylvia had alluded to.  The shift in the tone of her voice told Monica that their parting had not been an amicable one. 

 

            The glimpse into Heather's dating past caused Monica to hope she might learn more.  Unfortunately, Sylvia reappeared just then and announced that dinner was on the table.   

 

            The dinner conversation was a lot more conventional, with Heather pressing her great-aunt to share some of the more conservative stories of her television days.  As entertaining as they were, Monica couldn't help but wish she was learning more about the young woman sitting across from her.

 

            "So who's ready for dessert?"  Sylvia asked as she surveyed the collection of empty dishes in front of both girls.

 

            "I don't think I could eat another bite,"  Monica said, having eaten twice what she normally would've.  "Everything was just so delicious."

 

            "I'm afraid I'm going to have to pass too, Aunt Sylvia,"  Heather chimed in.  "In fact, I'm afraid I'm going to have to leave in a bit as well.  I promised someone I'd meet them almost a half hour ago."

 

            Hearing that, Monica's heart dropped.  Things had been going  so well, at least she had thought so. 

 

            "Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that,"  Sylvia said, disappointment in her tone.  "Can you at least stay for coffee?"

 

            Monica held her breath, trying to will Heather to say yes. 

 

            "Not really,"  Heather said, her tone apologetic.  "I really should've left already."

 

            As if on cue, Heather's cell phone started to ring.  As she removed it from her pocket, offering apologies as she did, Monica had a fleeting glance at the photo attached to the caller's profile.  It was just long enough for her to form an instant dislike for the beautiful, twenty-something Latina that she learned, from the brief conversation that followed, was her competition for Heather's attention this evening.       

 

            "I'm sorry, but I really have to go,"  Heather said, after having just lied, saying she had already left.

 

            "Well, if you must you must,"  Sylvia sighed.

 

            "It was really nice meeting you, Monica,"  Heather said as she rose from the table.

 

            "You too,"  Monica responded, a forced smile hiding her disappointment.  "Perhaps we could have that coffee another time?"  she added hopefully.

 

            "That would be great,"  Heather replied in an even, noncommittal tone.   

 

            As Sylvia walked her niece to the door and hugged her goodbye, Monica started to clear the table, piling one dish atop the other.  On her return, the older woman said that wasn't necessary but the younger insisted, staying downstairs until the last of them had been washed and put away.    

 

                                                -=-=-=-=-

 

            "Damn, damn, damn,"  Monica said softly as she closed her apartment door behind her, storming right past the living room and into the bedroom.  

 

            It was obvious that whatever her opinion of how the dinner had gone, it obviously hadn't been shared by Heather.  If the short haired blonde had been even the least bit interested, she told herself, she would've at least asked for Monica's number.    

 

            Kicking off her shoes, she pulled off her dress, tossing it over the small wooden chair in the corner.  Just as quickly, she tossed her bra and panties on top of it, grabbing the blue nightshirt that had been earlier laid out on the bed.  She held it in front of her for a moment, then tossed it aside as well.  Angry as she was, she wasn't in the mood for the kittens and flowers that decorated the nightwear.

 

            She pulled down the sheet on the single bed and crawled in naked beneath it.  As soon as she had done so, the weight of the day, temporarily suspended by the promise she felt at dinner, came crashing down around her.  In no time at all, weariness overtook her and she fell fast asleep. 

 

            A sleep rudely interrupted only an hour later when a loud knocking on her door forced her back to consciousness.  

 

             'The goddamn building had better be on fire,'  Monica thought irritably as she looked at the clock on the nightstand, pulling the sheet off her as she did.  Her short robe was closer than the nightshirt, so that what she wrapped around herself as she headed out to the door, determined to give whoever was there holy hell if their reason was anything other than the building being evacuated.   

 

            A second set of knocks came before Monica reached the door, emphasizing the impatience of whoever was on the other side.  She started to reach for the lock, but then paused a moment to more tightly wrap her robe around her naked body.

 

            A few months back, Jane's younger brother had been staying over during spring break and had come knocking to ask her some question, the subject of  which she could no longer recall.  What she did remember was that, like tonight, she had answered the door in nothing more than her robe - which had been left loose enough to give the twenty year old a very close view of her breasts. 

 

            During the previous week, the college student had made several attempts to ask Monica out, each time being politely rebuffed.  The unexpected display when she opened the door had encouraged him to renew his efforts threefold during the remainder of his visit.  At one point, Monica was on the verge of saying that, while she really wasn't her type, his sister had more chance of getting in her panties than he did.

 

            "This had better be impor..."  Monica said as she pulled open the door, only to have her words fade into silence when she saw who was on the other side.

 

            "Too late for that coffee?"  Heather asked, a broad smile on her face and a paper bag emblazoned with the name of a popular coffee franchise in her hand. 

 

            Without waiting for an answer, not that Monica was capable of giving one at the moment, Heather accepted silence as acquiescence and stepped past Monica into the apartment.

 

            "I love what you've done to the place,"  Heather said as Monica closed the door behind her.  The comment momentarily confused her until she realized that Sylvia's great-niece had obviously seen the apartment before she moved in. 

 

            "Thank you,"  Monica finally said as she watched her guest remove three large cardboard cups from the bag and place them on the countertop.

 

            "French Vanilla is my favorite,"  Heather said as she crumpled the now empty bag, dropping it into the nearby trash,  "but I wasn't sure how you feel about it, so I got an extra regular blend just in case."

 

            "French Vanilla is one of my favorites too,"  Monica replied automatically, still trying to sort out just what was going on.

 

            "Excellent!"  Heather beamed as she handed one of the marked cups to Monica. 

 

            "Correct me if I'm wrong,"  Monica said as Heather, her own coffee in hand, dropped down onto the couch and made herself at home,  "but didn't you leave here more than an hour ago to meet someone?"

 

            "Guilty as charged,"  Heather said as, popping the lid off her cup, she took a sip of the still steaming brew.

 

            "Then what are you doing here?"  Monica asked. 

 

            "Well, there is a little story to that,"  Heather said, gently swirling the cup in her hand to better savor the pleasant aroma drifting up from it, "but thankfully, not a very complicated one."

 

            Still holding the unopened cup in her hand, Monica gave the unexpected guest a look that said, "I'm listening."

 

            "I'd made it all the way to the club, it's called Scarlett's by the way and if you've never been there, you should definitely check it out," she began, "and was out on the dance floor with Isabella, rocking to the music, when I realized that I really didn't want to be there.  I mean, Isabella was unquestionably going to be a pleasant evening's diversion, but it was also clear, that was all she was ever going to be."  

 

            The image of the girl on Heather's phone appeared in Monica's head - pleasant diversion indeed!

 

            "You on the other hand," she continued, "had definitely struck me as someone with the potential to be so much more.  So I decided that getting to know you better was a much more productive use of my time."

 

            Remembering her long held belief that things like this didn't happen to her, Monica considered the idea that she might actually still be asleep and this was all a dream.  It wasn't until she absentmindedly lifted her coffee cup to her lips and felt the heat of the contents against them that she accepted this was very real.

 

            "Careful, that's still a bit hot,"  Heather warned.

 

            Monica took the top off her cup and let the cooler air of the room balance out the temperature of the hot coffee, blowing on it at the same time to make it drinkable. 

 

            "Wasn't that a bit unfair to your date?"  Monica asked after taking a small sip of the now cooler liquid.  "Just to leave her like that?"

 

            It wasn't that Heather's unexpected reappearance hadn't sent Monica's heart a-fluttering, it most certainly had.  But in her mind, since she'd never believed in the old maxim that "all's fair in love and war", that had to be balanced with how she would've felt in Isabella's place. 

 

            "I'm impressed that you're concerned,"  Heather said, her tone such that Monica was unsure if she was being sincere or not,  "but when I explained to Isabella why I was leaving, she had no problem with my doing so.  Which means, knowing her like I do, she'd already met, or at least set her eyes on, someone else before I got there." 

 

            Part of Monica wasn't sure she should believe that, but a larger part of her cried out that she had done enough to satisfy her conscience.  Giving in to that cry, her tinge of guilt faded .     

 

            Isabella certainly sounded like a player, Monica thought as she took a longer sip of her coffee, but then again, it was pretty obvious that Heather was too, at least sometimes.  Normally, that was another thing that would've set off alarm bells, but this time she was willing to take the risk. 

 

            "I guess her loss is my gain then,"  Monica finally said as she took the seat next to Heather on the couch.  Suddenly, she no longer felt the least bit tired.

 

            Their conversation pretty much picked up where it had left off downstairs, recovering some of the same ground before branching off into more personal areas that the previous lack of privacy precluded.  It didn't take long for the subject of exes to come into the exchange, with Heather now much more forthright than before.

 

            "Janine and I were together about four months,"  Heather said in response to Monica's question.

 

            Four months, Monica thought, was probably a very long time in Heather's world.  

 

            "What happened, if you don't mind my asking?"  Monica inquired.

 

            "Well, things were going great, at least I thought so,"  Heather began.  "We got along, had similar outlooks on life and the sex, well, the sex was phenomenal."

 

            As she listened, Monica wished she could even imagine phenomenal sex.

 

            "But then one day I realized that Janine wasn't as committed to the relationship as I thought she was,"  Heather added a bit ambiguously.

 

            "What made you come to that conclusion?"  Monica asked curiously.

 

            "Well, it was pretty obvious when I stopped by her apartment one afternoon and, after letting myself in with the key she'd given me, found her going down on a woman she'd only met the night before when we'd gone to a friend's birthday party."  

 

            "Oh my God!"  Monica gasped. 

 

            "It was pretty much downhill after that,"  Heather said, stating the obvious.

 

            "I would guess so,"  Monica observed, not sure what else to say.

 

            Monica wouldn't have needed all of both hands to count the women she'd had intimate relations with, but among that short list had been a few one nighters and quickies at a club.  So hooking up with someone you just met wasn't something she could pass judgment on.  Still, the rules were supposed to be different when you were in a relationship.  

 

            "So what about you?"  Heather queried, shifting the focus over to Monica.  "The girl you were living with before you moved here was named Carrie, right?"      

 

            "Yes,"  Monica confirmed, having mentioned her name earlier in the evening.  "She was…I mean she is a paralegal at Rossi, Vargas and Howell."

 

            "So, what happened with the two of you?"  Heather asked.

 

            "I guess my job happened,"  Monica replied.  "My hours become longer as they cut staff, and obviously that began to affect how much time we could spend together.  It got so bad at one point that she wanted me to quit and find a position someplace else.  But places as good as Westside are hard to find and besides, I really love it there."

 

            "So she made it her or your job?"  Heather asked.

 

            "Pretty much so,"  Monica agreed.

 

            "Then she's an idiot,"  Heather said, adding a long pause later, "at least in my opinion."

 

            "I'm not sure I'd say that,"  Monica said, thinking how much it hurt when they split up.

 

            "I would,"  Heather insisted.  "It's the quality of time you spend together, not the hours - at least if there's a good reason."

 

            "That's what I thought,"  Monica said, remembering making a quite similar statement to Carrie,  "but she didn't see it that way."

 

            "Then you're better off without her,"  Heather said with finality. 

 

            Logically, Monica knew that to be true, but who said the heart was ever logical?     

 

            As their conversation went on, it shifted back and forth between the conventional, books, movies, favorite foods, and the less so, including the inevitable question, when did you first realize you like girls?

 

            "I can't really say when I first realized it per say,"  Heather said, "but I certainly remember the first time I did anything about it."

 

            She went on to tell the story of how she had hooked up with a girl from another school when her high school basketball team had gone to the State Capitol to play in the championships.  The two had met before when their teams had played against one another, but despite the fact that each had quickly picked up on the other's interest, it never went beyond a few stolen kisses and secretive touches.      

 

            "Being two hundred miles from home can be quite a liberating experience,"  Heather said.  "I couldn't have imagined crossing that line back home, at least not at that age.  Dolores was the one that made the first move, but I was so glad that she did.  Everything I'd been feeling made so much sense after that."

 

            Then it was Monica's turn.

 

            "Well, I came out my freshman year in college,"  Monica said,  "but I knew I was only interested in girls by my second year of high school."

 

            "What made you realize it?"  Heather asked.

 

            "I guess I should say that before that, well, at least up to my freshman year, I did date guys.  Mainly because that's what was expected of me - I mean, I really would've stood out if I didn't.  In fact, I'd even let Bobby Myers, he took me to the junior prom, get to third base.  The thing I finally discovered, though, was no matter what I did, or who I did it with, I found nothing exciting about it at all.  At least nothing like I'd heard other girls describe."   

 

            Heather hadn't so much as ever kissed a guy, but understood what Monica was saying. She'd heard similar versions of the tale from other women.  

 

            "But what made you connect the dots and realize it was girls that held that excitement?"  Heather further inquired. 

 

            "Bobby and I went to different high schools, so that put an end to us as a couple,"  she said.  "Missing him gave me a great excuse to not date anyone else, at least for a while."

 

            "But something happened, didn't it?"  Heather asked, already knowing that something obviously had. 

 

            "We were having a girls night at Cathy Morgan's house - she and I had been close friends since grade school,"  Monica answered,  "and after her parents went up to bed, the conversation turned to boys as it usually did.  Since they all believed I was supposedly still pining for Bobby, who had a new girlfriend, by the way, I figured that I could just sit back and listen.  I was wrong."

 

            Monica paused for a breath as she recalled more of what had happened long ago.

 

            "The question of virginity came up and it turned out that, of the five of us, only Donna Cruz and I were still virgins, at least in the traditional sense,"  Monica said.  "Unfair as it probably was, the girls weren't surprised that Donna still was, given that she wasn't exactly what most of the boys at school would call datable.  So all their attention fell on me."

 

            "I remember Cathy saying that she couldn't believe that Bobby and I had gone out for over a year and the two of us had never done it,'  Monica continued.  "Every girl in the class had the hots for Bobby, she said, and if she knew I wasn't fucking him, she certainly would've." 

 

            "Ouch,"  Heather said, recognizing Cathy's faux pas.  Even if Monica and Bobby had broken up, you didn't publicly state that you'd screw him if you'd had the chance. 

 

            Even as she continued to listen with greater interest, Heather began to wonder about something.  She  wasn't sure if it was her imagination or not, but there seemed to be a very different inflection in Monica's voice when she said the name Cathy, one that wasn't there when she mentioned any of the other girls. 

 

            "Cathy immediately apologized and I told her not to worry,"  Monica recounted.  "After all, Bobby and I were history, so there was no reason for me to feel jealous."

 

            "But you were feeling it, weren't you?"  Heather said, all the pieces suddenly falling into place. 

 

            "I didn't understand it at first, but I was furious,"  Monica admitted.  "I was so angry I couldn't even speak."

 

            "But it wasn't Cathy you were angry about, was it?"  Heather said. 

 

            "No, it was Bobby,"  Monica confirmed. 

 

            "Because he was the one Cathy wanted and, given the chance, he could do all the things with her that you wanted to do,"  Heather said.  "Cathy was the one, your first love."

 

            "Yes, even if I never really understood it until that moment,"  Monica sighed.

 

            "You never told her, did you?" Heather asked, already knowing the answer.

 

            "No, I was never brave enough,"  Monica said with a soft laugh.  "We'd be alone somewhere and I'd promise myself that now was the time, but then I'd lose my nerve.  It took another two years and a lot more than two hundred miles between me and home to have the courage to say that to another girl."

 

            "Well, I for one am glad that you found it,"  Heather smiled as she brought the conversation back to the here and now, "and it was definitely Cathy's loss.  I don't know how she could've looked into those beautiful eyes of yours and not fall in love with you.  But I'm sure you've been told that before."     

 

            "Well, not lately,"  Monica replied, thinking that Heather's brown eyes were even more beautiful.

 

            "That was the first thing I noticed about you by the way,"  Heather said.  "I could easily get lost in eyes like that."

 

            If Heather was a player, she was really good at it, Monica thought.  Carrie had referenced her tight ass as the first thing she had noticed the night they'd met. 

 

            A glance at the clock on the wall showed that they had been talking for well over an hour. Several times during the conversation, Monica had caught Heather staring at her with more than friendly interest.  She suppressed a smile at that revelation, wondering how many times she had been caught staring back.  Especially after, in making herself more comfortable, Heather had taken off her outer shirt, revealing she that wasn't wearing a bra beneath her t-shirt.  Monica had to keep reminding herself not to stare at the pink circles visible through the thin material.  

 

            A task she had failed miserably at, as Heather had caught her looking just about every time.  Which had been her intention when she'd stripped down to her t-shirt.  She knew she had great boobs, and loved putting them on display.  She was, however, becoming tired of the verbal foreplay.  

 

            "Monica, I want to say something,"  Heather said, leaning forward, far enough to give the younger woman an even better view down her blouse.  "It's not often that I find myself as taken by a woman as I have been by you - at least not this way.  Not only are you adorable, but you are as smart as you are sexy, which leaves me with a hell of a conundrum.  I can't decide if I want to date you or just take you to bed and fuck you silly."         

 

            Monica blushed, not just because of Heather's frankness, but because she felt the same way.  As much as she felt she wanted to date the woman sitting aside her, she'd be lying if the second prospect hadn't been also on her mind.  Seven months with only her hand for company had been a very long time. 

 

            Not immediately sure how to respond, Monica just smiled and, picking up the now empty cardboard cups, walked them over to the trash.  She stood there a few more seconds, her back to Heather as she considered a reply.  When she turned back around and sat back down on the couch next to Heather, a broad smile filled her face.

 

            "Is there any reason that we couldn't do both?"  Monica asked, allowing desire to overcome prudence. "After all, when you think about it, we could look at this as our second date, couldn't we?"

 

            "I do like the way you think,"  Heather said with an equally broad smile as she reached out and cupped Monica's face, pulling her close enough to kiss her.            

 

                                                -=-=-=-=-        

 

            "Oh yes,"  Monica moaned, losing herself in the softness of Heather's lips.  Almost from the moment she'd first seen her at dinner earlier, she had been wondering what they might feel like.  Now that she knew, she was pleased to discover that they were as exhilarating as she had imagined.

 

            A second kiss followed, this one deeper than the first as tongues pressed outward, dancing vibrantly as they probed the recesses of each other's mouth.  As they did, Heather's right hand slipped past the folds of Monica's robe, closed around one of the bare breasts beneath and began to massage it softly. 

 

            "Oh yes, that's even better,"  Monica moaned louder as the feel of the blonde's caress caused a pleasing warmth, one that spread out across her chest

 

            As they continued to trade kisses, Heather guided her hand a bit further, the tips of her fingers quickly finding Monica's already excited nipple, causing it to grow harder at her touch.  Her other hand reached for the sash around the brunette's waist, tugging it free and releasing the tautness of the thin garment.  After that it didn't take much effort to expose the breast she had been stroking or its near identical twin.

 

            "So lovely,"  Heather said admiringly as she took in the younger woman's bounty.   

 

            Leaning forward, Heather kissed Monica once more, first on her lips, then on her neck, and than on the top of each breast.  As she did so, she brought the open palms of each hand up under the underside of Monica's mounds, guiding the nipples of one, and then the other, to a waiting and eager mouth.  The tip of her tongue reached out to tickle each, sending a flicker of delight through the younger woman, a pleasing sensation soon superseded by the greater delight brought by her mouth as it closed around each.     

 

            Back and forth, Heather went, alternating her attention  between each breast, using both her mouth and tongue to bring Monica the most gratifying enjoyment.  It was obvious that the older blonde knew her way around a woman's body, and Monica was eager to discover how well she handled the rest of it.  But not too eager that she didn't want her to take her time discovering her charms. 

 

            Which was good before it was also obvious that Heather was in no rush.  Her mouth on Monica's breasts felt like pure joy, her tongue playing a tune worthy of a concert pianist.  An analogy made all the more appropriate by the movement of her fingers as they danced across the brunette's flesh in a lively melody. 

 

            "Stand up,"  Heather whispered into Monica's ear after kissing her neck one more time. 

 

            As Monica did so, Heather took hold of the short robe draped across her body and pulled it totally off her, exposing the nude body beneath. 

 

            "Even more lovely,"  Heather smiled as she took in the totality of Monica's form, her eyes quickly focusing on the lightly haired mound between her legs.   

        

            She reached out and gently brushed outstretched fingers against that mound, a smile forming at the corner of her mouth, fueled by the dampness she found there and the knowledge that she had caused it. 

 

            "I hope you don't think me brazen,"  Heather said as she ran her fingers back across Monica's wetness a second time,  "but I just can't wait any longer to taste you." 

 

            Then, without waiting for even the semblance of a reply, she steered Monica back onto the couch and up onto the top of the back cushion, spreading her legs wide once she was seated atop it. 

 

            Not that Monica had the least bit of an objection to what Heather was doing.  Nothing turned her on more than a woman who took charge, at least in the bedroom or a reasonable facsimile.  Five minutes after meeting her, she had Heather pegged as one of those women and it was now obvious that she had accurately taken Monica's measure as well.        

 

            She let out a deep breath as she felt Heather's hand brush once more across her mound, a breath that exploded into a loud moan as the tip of the blonde's fingers found her sensitive clit.  Like stoking the embers of a campfire, the play of Heather's fingers caused the steady fire caused by her earlier actions to flare in intensity.

 

            An intensity that more than doubled just a few heartbeats later as, like a match dropped into a pool of gasoline, the caress of Heather's tongue against Monica's clit sent a burst of ecstasy ripping across her body, a sensation absent for far too long.     

 

            "Mother of God!"  Monica exclaimed as the conflagration engulfed her, committing what the sisters at Saint Michael's, the grade school she had attended, would doubtless consider a blasphemy.  

 

            Almost without thought, Monica slid her hand under her right leg, lifting it up onto the top of the back cushion, causing the gap between her legs to grow even wider, allowing Heather more room to work her magic.  An opportunity she wasted no time taking advantage of as, with extended tongue and darting fingers, she probed deep within her.   

 

            Long luxurious strokes with each sent echoing pulses of ecstasy racing throughout Monica's body, the tempo and intensity of each growing with each repetition.  Pure bliss filled her face as she arched her head backward, eyes tightly closed as she lost herself on waves of heaven.  Waves that continued to build under Heather's skillful ministrations. 

 

            Moans of delight began to merge into one continuous expression of desire, one that served to spur Heather onward.  If she had time, or the inclination to do so, Monica would've been hard pressed to remember the last time she had felt this good - or the idea that she could ever feel any better.  But Heather was about to prove just how possible that was.         

 

            Taking hold of Monica's sides, Heather turned her body around so that she was now draped forward over the back cushion, her face only inches away from the back wall.  Spreading the cheeks of her ass, Heather ran her tongue down the soft valley, duplicating the skill she had demonstrated on the other side.  The brief caress of the tip of Heather's tongue against that most forbidden of entries was as electric as it was unexpected, something that no woman had ever done to her before.  It was just a touch, a short-lived caress, but one that opened her mind to broader horizons for another time.  

 

            After that briefest of detours, Heather turned her attention back to the main treasure, again first with her fingers, and then with her mouth.  Turning her own body around so that she was now on her back, Heather slid under Monica and, lowering the veterinarian assistant, brought that prize within easy reach.  She took a moment to drink deeply of the wondrous scent, then resumed her task with greater ferocity.   

 

            Her body slid back and forth as she did so, with one arm wrapped around Monica's leg to keep them steady while her other hand found its way down own her own pants, where she could caress her jewel.  Experience proved true, and in short order Heather caused ripples of pleasure to course through her body. 

 

            The rising pleasures each felt made it easy for them to lose any sense of time, but with the broad lead Heather had given her, it wasn't long before Monica felt her body nearing the edge of a climax.  When it came, it did so with an intensity that long absence had made her forget.  With eyes tightly shut, she rode the waves of unbridled passion, promising herself that it was something that she would never let herself forget again.     

 

                                                -=-=-=-=-

 

            "That was fun,"  Monica said, after what seemed like long minutes had passed.

 

            "That it was,"  she heard Heather reply, surprised to realize that the voice had come, not from between her legs where she had thought the other woman still to be, but from a good two or three feet away from the couch.  The force of her orgasm had been enough to momentarily disorient her. 

 

            Heather waited until she was sure she had Monica's attention, then took hold of the sides of her t-shirt and, in one quick motion, pulled it up and over her head.  As Monica had earlier noticed, the older woman wasn't wearing anything beneath, so the action instantly displayed the pink nipples she had so intently noticed earlier.  They capped breasts that, while almost half the size of Monica's, were equally inviting.   

 

            Heather gave her little time to admire them, however, as even before her shirt had hit the floor she was already undoing the belt and clasp that held her jeans closed.  In less time that it took to think about it, they, and the boots she wore beneath, were tossed next to her top.  It was immediately clear that the blonde's disregard for underwear also extended to panties.   

 

            What surprised Monica even more was that the mound those panties might have concealed, at least for a few more moments, was as bare as a baby's bottom.  She hadn't seen one like that since before puberty, and the reaction it produced in her now was far different than it had been back in grade school.

 

            A reaction that brought a smile to Heather's face as, taking a broad step forward, she brought her mound to within licking distance of Monica's mouth.  As before, the invitation was obvious and Monica took even less time than Heather had in acting on it. 

 

            Hardly a heartbeat passed before Monica had her head pressed tight against Heather's pussy, her tongue buried deep within it.  Enthusiastically, she took in both the scents and flavor of the older woman, reminding herself that there was no place in the world that brought her more happiness than where she was right now.

 

            Back in high school, she had listened to her sisters and girlfriends go on about how much fun it was to go down on a guy, about the rush of being in complete control.  It was a feeling that totally eluded her when she'd tried it with Bobby Myers, even though he had said he'd enjoyed it immensely.  It wasn't until months later when she'd tried it with a girl that she finally understood.

 

            "Oh yes, just like that,"  Heather said as, hands interlocked against the back of Monica's head, she guided the younger woman to her most sensitive spots.

 

            Like Monica, this was her favorite place to be, with a woman down between her legs.  Well, most of the time anyway.  There were times when her second favorite place to be alternated as her  number one joy - it really depended on the woman she was with.  She wondered for a moment if Monica would enjoy her other passion as well, but then put it aside as something, perhaps, for another time. 

 

            After a bit, Heather suggested that they would be more comfortable back on the couch and Monica readily agreed.  Heather relaxed her grip and Monica lifted herself back onto the seat cushions.  Heather followed right after her, pressing her down onto the soft seats.     She kissed both the dark haired woman's breasts, then moved up to her lips.  She continued to lift herself until her own small mounds were right in front of Monica's face and in easy reach.  Eagerly, Monica took one, and then the other into her mouth, using her tongue with the same dexterity she had demonstrated on Heather's pussy.  

 

            Heather let her play with her nipples for another minute or so, then moved up even further on the couch, straddling Monica's head and dropping down so that her pussy was once more right above her eager mouth.  Still filled with the desire to give as good as she got, Monica instantly went back to work.   

 

            Steadying herself with one hand on the armrest and the other parting the fold of her sex, Heather gently moved back and forth, allowing Monica to reach every inch of her pussy easily.  Back and forth Monica's tongue whirled, producing, along with fingers, a kaleidoscope of delights. It was taking Monica far longer to bring Heather along the road to orgasm than her own journey, but she was no less confident that she would reach it.     

 

            They again changed places, with Heather now taking up position against the armrest, one leg draped over the edge and the other stretched down the length of the couch.  Monica now on her knees, filling the space between Heather's legs with her whole body as, with both her hands and mouth doing all they could to bring Heather to climax, she neared her goal.  

 

            A goal achieved a few minutes later as Heather's body rocked with joy, tides of passion washing over her as Monica continued to lick her feverishly until the last had passed.  When that finally occurred, Heather slid down on the couch and at the same time, pulled Monica up onto her.  Their lips met in the middle as they shared a kiss of mutual satisfaction.   

 

            "Happy?"  Heather asked, stroking aside a stay lock of hair from Monica's face.

 

            "Happy doesn't begin to describe it,"  Monica beamed.

 

            "Tired?"  Heather further asked.

 

            "Amazingly, no,"  Monica replied, the answer surprising herself given the length of her day, not to mention her recent exertions.  

 

            That pleased Heather immensely, because she really didn't want the night to end.  But if it had, she could genuinely say that it have been far more enjoyable than anything she might have shared with Isabella.  Well, maybe not anything.

 

            "Monica, do you like toys?"  she asked hesitantly.

 

            "You mean like sex toys?"  Monica asked in reply, not really thinking she was talking about Barbie dolls and such.

 

            Heather nodded her head in affirmation.

 

            "I guess as much as the next girl,"  Monica laughed.  "I mean, I have a vibrator in my night table,"  she added, thinking that Heather was asking if she had any.

 

            "I was thinking along the lines of something a bit more intimate,"  Heather said.

 

            Monica's response was a confused expression; what could be more intimate?

 

            "Well, have you ever…" she started to ask in a normal tone of voice, pausing for a breath before leaning down and whispering the rest of the question into Monica's ear.

 

            "Omigod, I've never done that,"  she answered, her look quickly transforming to one of surprise. 

 

            "Ever thought about it?"  Heather asked.

 

            Monica didn't answer immediately; instead she turned the question over in her head a few times.  After she had, she had to admit that it was something she had sometimes wondered about.  Like with oral sex, she had listened to her friends and sisters talk about how much fun it was, but after the disappointment with Bobby, had never been curious enough to take the next step.  After discovering that it was all a matter of being with the right person, well, in her case the right gender, the opportunity never presented it self. 

 

            "I guess the answer would be, yes I have,"  she finally replied.

 

            "Enough to think you might want to give it a try?"  Heather continued. 

 

            "Well, even if I did, where would we get something like that?"  Monica asked in turn, the practical side of her mind asserting itself.

 

            In reply, Heather smiled and turned her glance to the far side of the room.  Monica followed her line of sight until she spotted the small carry bag that Heather had draped across her shoulder when she'd first arrived. 

 

            "You're kidding…"  she said.  "Are you telling me that you actually carry something like that around with you?"

 

            "Well, I was on my way to the club…"  Heather replied, her smile growing broader. 

 

            That told Monica two things.  The first, the probable reason why Heather hadn't been wearing any underwear - it would only have gotten in the way - and secondly, she now had a good idea what Isabella liked, even though she had never met her. 

 

            "So what do you think?"  she heard Heather ask, bringing her back to the question at hand.

 

            "I'm not sure; this is all happening a bit fast,"  Monica said after a few more  moments of reflection, her voice of reason now being joined by that of caution. 

 

            "That's fine; it was just a thought,"  Heather said in half a heartbeat, quickly walking back her suggestion and hoping she hadn't gone too far in making it.

 

            "I'm guessing Isabella likes it,"  Monica said, curious about whether she was right in her assumption.

 

            "Actually, she loves it,"  Heather answered,  "but that's her.  It's not for everyone.  Like I said, it was just a suggestion.  Why don't we just forget I even made it?"

            "But you did, so I have to think it's also important to you,"  Monica pointed out. 

            "Not as important as I think you might be,"  Heather countered, again hoping she hadn't ruined things. 

 

            Monica smiled, taking a few moments to think about that, and then said.  "You know, I used to have a friend that always told me that, unless you are really sure that you won't like it, or it was really bad for you, you should try everything at least once.  Otherwise, how will you know if it's not for you?"

 

            What Monica didn't mention was that the friend had been Sarah Edwards, her first girlfriend and the one who had taken her Sapphic cherry.  If it hadn't been for her, she might have just followed social convention and taken the same path as her sisters - despite how miserable that might have made her.   

 

            "Are you saying…"  Heather asked.

 

            "I guess I am,"  Monica replied.

 

            "Are you sure?"  Heather asked, a mix of hope and hesitation in her voice.

            "Sure, why the fuck not?"  Monica laughed.  "After all, you only live once, right?"

 

            "What was it I said before?"  Heather asked, a grin on her face.  "Oh yeah, girl, I do like the way you think."

 

                                                -=-=-=-=-

 

            "Oh God yes, fuck me!"  Monica cried out as the faux cock pressed deep inside her once more.  "Fuck me, Heather, fuck me harder!"

 

            When Heather had first produced and then strapped on the admittedly realistic phallus, it had taken all of Monica's will power not to laugh.  Despite some of the manly traits the former sports star exhibited, the sight of her with a dick dangling between her legs seemed so incongruous as to be laughable.  Especially since the object in question made her more endowed than any man Monica had ever seen - not that that number was more than the fingers on her hand. 

 

            But she was determined to give it a try and laid back on the couch according to Heather's instructions, spreading her legs as the now packing blonde climbed between them.  Monica had been penetrated before, by fingers, her aforementioned vibrator and even once upon a time, a toy not dissimilar from the one now poised before her womanhood.  But the latter two had been controlled by her own hand, with the limitations thereof.  To have someone enter her as Heather was ready to do was unexplored territory indeed.          

 

 

            Despite Heather's assurance that the female body, especially one that had already been well prepared by their earlier play, could easily accommodate something of the toy's size, Monica was relieved when the older woman produced a tube of lubricating gel from her bag and generously coated the rubberized cock with it. 

 

            "Ready?"  Heather asked as, her hand tightly wrapped around it, she placed her cockhead against the entrance to Monica's pussy.

 

            "Yes,"  Monica said, hoping the lie wasn't too apparent.

 

            "Just relax,"  Heather said as, with a firm press forward, she slowly slipped the cock half way into Monica, pausing for a moment before sliding it half that distance back.

 

            She repeated the motion a few more times, both to assure Monica that, yes, she could easily accommodate its length and also to let her feel the effect it had on her body as it passed in and out. An effect that she discovered could be quite pleasing.

 

            It wasn't long before Monica was comfortable with the full length of Heather's cock, along with the increased speed of her thrusts.  With their bodies pressed tightly together, they again began trading kisses.  Breasts rolled against breasts, adding to the pleasing vibrations radiating between the two of them.

 

            Despite the novelty of it, it soon seemed to Monica the most natural thing in the world.  Which, after all, was what nature had in mind for the female body.  It had taken human ingenuity, however, to make it possible for the younger woman to enjoy the act with the gender of her choice.             

 

            Wanting to penetrate Monica even deeper, and bring the additional pleasure she knew that would bring, Heather took hold of both Monica's  legs and lifted them high enough for her ankles rest on her shoulders.  Then, with her hands tight against Monica's hips, she began to fuck her even faster.  As good as that was, the younger woman wanted even more, crying out the need that filled her.  A need that Heather was happy to fill. 

 

            Back and forth they rocked, sweat running down their bodies as they formed a sexual symbiosis.  The conduit that joined them might have been artificial, but had been carefully designed to bring simultaneous pleasure to both.  A small extension, situated against Heather's clitoris, allowed her to partly share in the constantly increasing pleasures she was bringing Monica.  Added to that was the emotional gratification she felt that helped make up the difference.   

 

            She could feel Monica's body responding to her efforts, but still she wanted her to have more.  After one more strong thrust forward, she pulled all the way out of the younger woman and turned her around so that she was now bent over on all fours facing the arm of the couch she had previously been laying against. 

 

            With complete ease, Heather reentered Monica from behind, taking a firm grip on her waist that allowed her to pull the younger woman back on each forward motion, adding to the depth and  effectiveness of her actions.  The air filled with a seemingly never-ending series of moans - the volume and frequency of such matching the increase in Heather's attentions.

 

            Feeling that Monica, and to a lesser extent, herself was near to the end of their journey, Heather reached down under her body and, with outstretched palms, cupped the brunette's ample breasts, gripping them tightly as she pressed her own against her back.  They had become almost one body, with one purpose - now so very close.  

 

            "Oh yes, oh yes…."  Monica panted, her words cut short as resounding waves of orgasmic delight exploded from deep within her.  The force of the eruption such that it drained just about everything from her, causing her body to collapse from a wondrous exhaustion once she had given all that she had to give.

 

            Heather's climax was far less dramatic, but nonetheless pleasing, filling her with a sense of serene accomplishment.  She dropped back onto the bed next to Monica and, closing her eyes, wrapped her arms around her as they both soon drifted off to sleep. 

 

                                                -=-=-=-=-

 

            The new day had well begun by the time Monica opened her eyes to greet it.  The excitement of last night's frolic still filled her with a pleasing warmth, one that brought a generous smile as she turned her head and saw the equally nude woman sleeping beside her.  For a brief moment, she had worried that, when she looked, she would find herself all too alone.

 

            'It's nice to know it wasn't a dream,'  Monica thought as she reached out and, with the gentlest of touches, ran the edge of her fingers against Heather's cheek.

           

            The light caress proved enough to cause Heather's eyes to open, blinking twice before Monica came into focus.  The welcoming smile was duplicated as she took the brunette's hand in hers and tenderly kissed her fingertips.

 

            "Good morning, beautiful,"  Heather said, leaning close enough to plant a gentle kiss on Monica's lips. 

 

            Monica shared a kiss of her own, then backed just far enough away for the two of them to sit up in the bed.  It was a tight fit, but neither seemed to mind.  

 

            "Do you have plans for the morning, or can we spend it here in bed?"  Monica asked, a part of her hoping that the latter would be the case.

 

            Heather paused, seeming to be thinking about it.

 

            "Actually, I do have something to do this morning,"  she said apologetically.

 

            "You can't blow it off?"  Monica asked hopefully.

 

            "Not really,"  Heather replied.  "You see there's this girl…"

 

            "Oh,"  Monica interrupted, her buoyant bubble suddenly bursting.  She knew that the woman beside her was a player going in, and that last night, as momentous as it had been for her, might have been just another Friday night for Heather.    

 

            "…and I'm really hoping that she's going to turn out to be more than just a fuck buddy,"  Heather continued.  "So I figured taking her out to breakfast this morning might be a pretty good start.  So how about it, baby, you hungry?"

 

            It took an equally long moment for Monica to react. 

 

            "You are so evil,"  Monica said in a mock angry voice.

 

            "Honey, you have no idea,"  Heather grinned,  "but trust me, you're going to find out."

 

            "In that case, I'm ravenous,"  Monica laughed. 

 

            "Good, 'cause I call first dibs on the shower,"  Heather replied.  "Remember, I've had experience with the plumbing in this old place too,"  she added with a laugh.

 

            "We could always share the shower,"  Monica offered suggestively. 

 

            "That we could,"  Heather replied, a smile filling her face at the thought,  "but I'm pretty sure if we did we'd miss lunch, never mind breakfast."

 

            "This is true,"  Monica smiled back, coupled with a hand gesture of capitulation.

           

            They kissed once more, then Monica slipped out of the bed and looked for her robe, forgetting for a moment it had been left out in the living room. 

 

            "I'll be right back,"  she said to Heather as she walked naked into the outer room. 

 

            Standing in the middle of the living room as she wrapped the robe around her, Monica was about to head back to the bedroom when there was a loud knock on the door.  Not as insistent as the one she had answered last night, but loud enough that she really couldn't ignore it. 

 

            "Sylvia?"  she said in surprise as she opened the door and found the older woman standing there, a large breakfast tray in her hands.

 

            "I thought you might be hungry,"  Sylvia said, glancing down at the tray of eggs, toast, orange juice and sausages, an abundance compared to what Monica normally had in the morning.

 

            "Sylvia, this is too much,"  Monica said automatically.

 

            "Well, it is breakfast for two,"  Sylvia clarified as she stepped inside and walked over to the countertop to lay down the tray.

 

            "Two?"  Monica repeated, wondering for a moment if the her landlady was planning to join her - which would indeed be awkward considering who was waiting just a half closed door away.

 

            Thankfully, that didn't turn out to be the case as, after depositing the tray, Sylvia turned and headed right back for the door.   

 

            "Enjoy it, my dear,"  Sylvia said as she opened the door and stepped back out into the hall.

           

            So intent was Monica in watching Sylvia leave, she hadn't heard Heather come out of the bedroom and come up behind her.         

           

            "My, that does smell good, doesn't it?"  a still naked Heather said, stepping past Monica to get a better look at the goodies on the tray.

 

            "Oh my God, Heather,"  a startled Monica called out as she realized that Sylvia's great-niece had to have come out of the bedroom before the older woman had fully closed the door behind her.  "What if she heard, or worse, saw you?"

 

            "I don't think she would've been shocked, or even surprised,"  Heather grinned as she picked up a piece of  toast and nibbled at the corner.  "After all, she did make a point of saying this was breakfast for two."

 

            "You didn't tell her that you were coming back here, did you?"  Monica asked, feeling a tinge of embarrassment at the prospect. 

 

            "No,"  Heather quickly answered. 

 

            "Then how…?"

 

            "Remember when I said my Aunt has a bit of a reputation as the family matchmaker?"  Heather said after taking a second bite.

 

            Monica nodded her recollection.

 

            "Well, what I didn't tell you was that she rarely ever gets it wrong,"  Heather smiled.

 

            Monica still wasn't sure how she felt about Sylvia knowing what had been going on over her head all night, or at least could make a good assumption about it, but she did manage to form at least half a smile.     

 

            "Look at the bright side,"  Heather said as she now started to add other items from the tray onto one of the small plates.  "Not only do we now have breakfast, but we also have the time for a long shower afterwards."

 

            That, Monica thought, was a bright side indeed.     

 

END 



	




 (c) Ann Douglas 2015











  








   



Please take a few moments to send a note, anonymous if you
    wish, and let me know what you thought of the story.  B
e sure 
    to let me know what story it was that you read.  Just so I can 
    know who my audience is, a first name and age at the  end 
    would be appreciated.  If you’d like a reply or have a question, 
    then just also add an e-mail address.  Thanks in advance.