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Subject: Title story: "Shaved Splash" Author: averti 79915015
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Date: Sun, 09 Jul 2006 02:41:50 +0000
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Shaved Splash
* Parts 1 and 2 *
The phone rang. It was Joker. ``Hey, Starr'' she said, calling me by my play
name. I wondered if that meant she was in a mood to play. ``Stop jerkin' off''
Joker continued, in her familiar raspy voice.
I sighed. ``I wish I _were_ jerking off'' I said. ``I'm sitting here writing
checks, and the bills are breeding faster than I can cover them.''
``Well, that's a stupid way to spend a Sunday afternoon...Want to come over here
instead?''
``Here? You mean, like your place?'' I was a little surprised. Even if I was
virtually the only man that Joker had any kind of close relationship with, I had
seldom been invited to her flat we usually met at the home of our mutual...well,
friend is a weak word...Toby. Our whole little circle of friends was intensely
private. Joker probably the most private of all.
``Yes, my place. It's going to rain, finally, I think. We could hang out and dig
the rain...''
``OK. Thanks. But I'm not helping you work on your bike again. My knuckles
haven't healed from the last catastrophe.''
Joker laughed. ``You're supposed to hold onto the wrench, fool, not spin it like
a baton.''
``I'm a lover, not a mechanic'' I grumbled. ``If it's not motorcycle repairs,
then what do you have in mind?''
There were a couple of beats of silence, then she said, in a softer
voice, ``You remember when you wrote that story about me and sent it to
the whatchacallit--net?''
``The one about shaving your pussy?'' I grinned at the memory.
``Yeah. Well, I was re-reading the copy you gave me, and I started to get
ideas...''
``Tell me, Joke, which hand are you holding the phone in?''
``Left hand, asshole. That's right, I've been rubbing myself. For about half an
hour before I placed this call.''
Dynamite! ``So you want me to come over and watch you shave again?''
``Nope. I want you to come over and _shave me_.''
***
It was definitely going to rain, after weeks and months of nothing but broiling
sun alternated with sullen, juiceless clouds and fog. I parked my car in Joker's
driveway, got out, and sniffed the electric air before running up the front
steps of the ramshackle Victorian. I looked at the usual clutter of complete and
partial motorcycles occupying the drive and side terrace, but nothing registered
I was here for sex, not mechanics.
As I waited for her to answer the door, I daydreamed about my unusual friend. A
real lesbian's lesbian--butch as a USMC bulldog-- she was tough without being
mean, strong without being pushy. I loved her quite deeply in our special way
we loved and trusted each others' bodies and souls, and knew that we could
never try to expand our relationship beyond its natural limits (lest we kill
each other).
The Joker that answered the door looked different. Her usually spiky, jagged
red hair was longer and actually looked to have been washed and combed within
the past few hours. Her hair was also a softer, less rusty color. The smile she
flashed me, and the light that beamed in her ocean-colored eyes, spoke of a
much happier woman than the guarded, metal-hard Joker usually found in the
cruel world.
Joker was wearing, in deference to the heat, a loose sleeveless T shirt and
baggy cotton shorts. Her bare legs were the same as usual unshaven, thus shaded
with fine orange hairs, scabbed, scarred and scraped from a thousand and one
encounters with the pavement. In spite of this, they were fine, trim, muscular
legs, the legs of a woman warrior, and I looked at them with undisguised relish.
Joker's small, hard breasts danced delightfully in her loose shirt--I don't know
whether she even _owns_ a bra--and her distinct, pointed, always slightly hard
nipples poked at the thin cotton fabric.
After my surprise at how happy and relaxed she looked, before I could say
anything, Joker handed me surprise number two. She threw her arms around my neck
(strong as she is, it was like being taken into custody) and ...
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