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"Yo, Erin, earth to Erin." A deep pleasant voice shook me from my musing. So deep in thoughts I'd not heard Tyler come in. She popped her head into the kitchen and kissed my cheek. Ty towers over me and I'm well over six foot in my heels. "Can I use your rig?" She asked. "Need to pull emails from work." She heads for the living room not even stopping for an answer before making a beeline to boot my laptop in the bureau. "I can't believe you're still using fucking Windows." She sneered. "When are you gonna grow up and use Linux like a freaking adult?" Tyler is a total geek, nerd, or whatever is au currant for computer scientists to be called.
Ty is absolutely the scientist. Seduced and lured into the Air Force straight out of high school, she'd been offered ridiculous amounts of money by the military; many elite colleges and private companies also came a courting. She works independently doing classified software development for the government. She's a software architect and analyst, which I have no way of comprehending so I really don't know what the hell she does for a living, but she makes oodles of cash. She doesn't talk about her work and her friends damn well know better than to ask. People too curious about just what Tyler does, seem to have a way of disappearing.
She's scary smart and more than a bit smug about it. She's not offensive really, just knows she's smarter than 99% of everybody else (which she is), and is totally confident that she is correct; about anything. She has an opinion about everything, be it politics, sports, economics, whether life exists on other planets, is American football better than European soccer, the number of angels that could dance on the head of a pin... And she will argue her position until all opposition is exhausted and surrenders. She is comfortable arguing any side of an issue. Tyler is not invested in being right or even politically correct, she just likes to win, at anything.
"Shut up." I snorted, chuckling. "You bloody well know that Linux distros and Apple's OS's are just as vulnerable as Windows. You're such a conceited self-righteous bitch."
"At least I know better than leaving my Wi-Fi on 24/7. You could at least switch off the router when you're not online. It makes you too vulnerable to being hacked." She is chuckling and I know she's just baiting me and winding up for the next volley. I concentrate on prepping dinner. I'm pretty certain Tyler could boil water; she just doesn't see the need to when a good restaurant is always a hop skip and a jump away. I've eaten her cooking before and it is atrocious; if nuking Lean Cuisines can be considered cooking. She blows up at least one microwave oven a month. I'm better at cooking and sex than she, and I've earned a doctorate, so I figure I'm not a total tool.
Tyler joins me in the kitchen, sneaks a morsel of lobster from the skillet and cools it with her breath before popping it in her mouth. "Damn, girl, this is succulent." She exclaims, drooling, wiping her lips and pulling me in for an embrace and a friendly passionate kiss. "Please, Erin. Say you'll be mine and cook for me and fuck me silly." She pinches my ass, giggles, and strokes my cheek. "I'm sorry. I'm not a total bitch you know, just oblivious. I'm not good with feelings. I'll nolo contendere on the self-righteous assessment, though."
I smile at her and kiss her open palm. She is one of the most generous and kind-hearted people I know. I have seen her give the coats off her shoulders to needy strangers on the street. If it weren't for credit cards she'd have given all her money away years ago.
"Who else is coming?" She asks.
"Morgan's coming. And Anna. So are Rayne, Sally and Elizabeth. Jennie's a maybe. Oh, and Jillian's in the shower." I tell her.
Tyler makes her eyebrows wiggle, does her Groucho impression and we laugh. "So, is that an invitation to join her?" She asks. "Because (her eyes wiggle up and down) that reminds me of a joke I heard that's so naughty I'm ashamed to even think of it myself."
I rolled my eyes, snorted a smiling laugh and shook my head. She'd never act on it, but Tyler has the hots for Jillian - of course, who wouldn't? Jillian is completely foxy. Unlike my more malleable moral compass, Tyler is fiercely honorable and utterly loyal. We've made love in the past but chose to value our friendship more; we cherish our casual intimacy but it's not been physical since our early 20's.
"Why'd you invite Anna?" Tyler asked. "You know she'll only scarf the food so she can go and heave. She's doing the bulimia gig full-time now." Her words are harsh, but she's so wistful and sad. Tyler shrugs and sighs with frustration. "I could fall in love with that girl, y'know. If only she wasn't so completely damaged."
Sighing, shaking my head sadly, I looked at her. "She's started shoplifting again. I'm dreadfully frightened for her."
Tyler was shocked. "We've got to do something, Erin. Anna's spiraling down. Again."
I took her hand and we walked to the living room, I stopped and looked at her cute full moon face. "We can't do anything, sweetie." I said. "Anna needs to be open to changing. Sure, we can put a stop to the stealing, easy-peasy, just have her busted, but she'll just start up again when she's released. Anna's got a ways to go before she hits bottom. I just hope she doesn't kill herself before she finds it."
She's shocked, and glares at me as anger only briefly flashes across her face before turning to sorrow. She steps forward, our hands still entwined, her head falls to my shoulder and Tyler quietly begins weeping.
I'd thought about doing a 5150 on Anna, but there's a line you can't cross with friends and loved ones. Wielding the weapon of involuntary psychiatric commitment gives me more power than most people could ever have, and should never be done without very careful deliberation. Professional ethics notwithstanding, the power to imprison someone against their will should never be undertaken lightly.
Jillian speaks:
I'm wondering what to wear this evening. Tonight is important for Erin. She's not told her friends about the cancer relapsing, and planned to do so this night. I want to look good for my Honey. I want her to feel aroused and proud. I want her to feel something other than scared and anxious and worried. She cares more for her friends' comfort than for her own. It kinda pisses me off; I wish she took better care of herself sometimes.
I decide to go with a 50-50 ensemble, you know, sexy, sultry and alluring with a bit of the brazen whore thrown in; so obviously, no panties. I own one pair of killer Jimmy Choo's, a perk from a modelling gig. They're black sling backs with silver accents, total comfort to wear and they make all the muscles in my legs look cut and ripped. No stockings, I want to flaunt my legs, and also because that'll draw eyes up my thighs and it'll soon be apparent I'm bare and...well, bare.
Erin bought me a black silk mini. It's a high waisted skirt that hits mid-thigh and is cut in a way that makes it lift and flair up and out when I walk and appears in constant motion even when I am still. It is sensuous and sexy, so terribly expensive I was embarrassed but Erin insisted on buying it. She's only briefly seen me in it so this will be a wonderful surprise. I choose a seamless cropped chemise from Erin's collection, its fishnet patterned, perfect for the look I'm after, and she loves it when I wear her lingerie. I look rather hot. Okay, I admit, I'm way overdressed, probably inappropriately so, and look quite the elegant slut. Mission accomplished. Grinning happily, I throw my hair into a loose braid, buff my face with just a tad of minerals foundation, paint on some berry pink kiss-proof lip stick and I'm good to go.
Erin speaks:
Sally, Rayne and Elizabeth, arrived together as always. Rayne is a physician, specializing in AIDS treatment and research. She's in high demand on the lecture and training circuits, often asked to testify at international government hearings. She blows off all but the most important requests; her priority is always on treating patients.
She's actually the last one to be taken as a lesbian, no matter how good the gaydar might be. There's just something about Rayne that wards her from anybody even wondering. She takes excellent care of herself, and runs ridiculous amounts of miles each day. She's into strength training and lifts weights, but isn't bulky muscled, probably due to yoga and Pilates. She works like a fiend, so I don't know where she finds time to do that workout regimen. She only sleeps a few hours at a time. She's a catnapper, claims sleeping is highly over rated.
Sally is her lover, as is Elizabeth. I don't understand the ménage-a-trois concept from an emotional level. Jealousy is a tough beast to grapple with, but they've made it work for over ten years now. I envy their devotion and commitment to one another. Sally and Elizabeth are sisters. Don't even ask, okay? Both Irish, and yeah, they live up to the fantasy red-headed, green-eyed beauties that seem to fill the writings of most erotic fiction these days.
Rayne is from South Africa, and has an incredibly sexy voice and accent. Her rich creamy cocoa skin makes us mere mortals drop our tongues and drool. She is a knockout, a smoking hot vixen of latte cocoa-skinned woman. Considering her intelligence and her dynamic presence, if she had the desire, she could conquer the world, and accomplish it so fast that Alexander's eyes would spin. (What's purple and conquered the world? Alexander the Grape.)
Jennifer? I met Jen in college. My cherry 78 Spider 124 (Oh, no you don't! Don't slam my Fix-It-Again-Tony red FIAT roadster; I miss my baby.)
It broke down on a state highway I'd taken a hankering to explore and Jennifer rumbled up on her Harley. Within minutes she'd discovered my clutch plate was no longer of this earth, and we fell into a genuine and comfortable banter, a camaraderie and friendship that's grown profoundly deeper over the years. If it's a riding machine, she can fix it, and make it better than new. Yeah, she looks just like you'd expect a butch dyke on wheels to look like: sexy, strong, confident, brash, and vulnerable enough to make your heart gasp. James Dean with vulva!
"Morgan!" I call from the kitchen "Come here, I need you."
"Be right there, Watson."
I laugh. Her mind works in mysterious ways. "So listen." I began as she strolled in. "I've got a question about anal."
"Thought you shrinks were the sexperts." She smirked. "What do you need? I can either do the explanation or give you the experience. But Jillian's here, so how do you wanna do this?"
I scoffed and punched her arm. "I'm hung on a phobic response to fucking her ass."
"That is not accepted as a phobia." Rayne said, squeezing into the kitchen from the living room.
"I know, Rayne. It's not really a phobic reaction. I just can't wrap my head around sticking my tongue up her ass. It kinda makes me gag."
"Use enemas together, Sweetie." She said, laughing gently.
A thumping staccato knocking sounded at the door.
"Erin, should I get that?"
"Yeah, please do, Jillian."
"Uhm, Erin...it's the police. You'd better get out here, quick." Jillian's voice trembled a bit, hesitant, unsure.
"Guys, come set out the food, okay? This'll just take a few minutes." I walked towards the front door, hoping this wouldn't ruin the evening.
The cop at the door was huge. "Yes, can I help you?" He stood aside and there was Anna, cowering behind him. She was hand-cuffed and trembling.
"I understand that you own the Aston Martin out front?"
"Uhm, it's been sold, and it's supposed to be garaged until the owner comes for it." I began to piece together where these questions were heading. I looked at Anna squirming, trying to hide behind him again. I raised my eyes quizzically, looked from her to the cop, and waited. I squelched my irritation.
"This woman claims to be the owner. Said she recently purchased it."
I couldn't help it, I laughed. Hell, this was brazen, even for Anna.
"Tyler?" I called. Hell, she'd begged me to sell her the Aston Martin, and given her feelings for Anna, it only seemed right to include her. Damnit, what a complicated tangled mess of lies and emotions!
Tenth part: "Six foot Oni cat, I like the way you lick your fur Evil kitty cat, What's it take to hear you purr..."
(In which we find an unexpected party...)
Tyler was angry, frustrated and distraught. "Damnit, Erin. Why did you have to press charges? You know she'll decompensate in jail."
"Really, Ty?" I looked at her, surprised at the chutzpa. "You're suggesting this is my fault?"
She sighed and turned from the doorway. "No it isn't. Not your fault at all." She looked at me sadly. "It's more my fault than anything. I saw what she was doing, the stealing and the lies. Just didn't want to believe it. Come on." She nodded towards the living room and beckoned. "Might as well tell 'em what they haven't figured out..."
Even lukewarm and amidst the dampened mood, the lazy-man's Cioppino was incredible. Hell, might as well ruin the night completely.
Rayne, Sally and Elizabeth were cuddled around the coffee table, dipping bits of French bread in the fragrant broth and feeding each other with morsels of shellfish and lobster, and cooing endearments.
Tyler grinned wickedly. "Shit you guys. Get a room!"
I cleared my throat and glanced at Jillian in the kitchen. My heart leaped. She was stunning in that black silk miniskirt. A purely sexual animal. Just a look and I was dizzy with lusting desire. She met my eyes, smiled, picked up a silver tray service and came into the living room.
Coffee, Irish whiskey and a magnum of champagne. Excellent - the night was redeemable. I looked at Morgan and smiling, wondered where she'd hidden dessert.
"I wanted to do an intervention on Anna, you guys. It was part of the reason for this party."
Jennifer nodded her elegant butch head. Her short manlike razor cut hair shone in the flickering light of the gas logs. "I don't know her well, Erin, and you know I don't much care for her..." She mused. "Always knew she was a little too crazy. Being around her was trouble I don't need." She smiled sadly. "But, she's a friend of yours. For some twisted reason you guys like her...care about her..."
"What's done is done, Jen. People change, sometimes for the worst..." I sighed and stretched my leg, perched my heel on the edge of the coffee table and struggled up towards the tray service.
"What do you want to drink, Sweetheart?" Jillian asked.
"Coffee and Concannon, please." I grinned at her, winked and licked my lips. "There's whipped cream in the fridge ya know..."
She returned from the kitchen and spooned a dollop of stiff sweet cream onto my coffee. I stroked her bent leg and peeked a look at her bare glistening snatch. Yum.
"The cancer is back." I announced quietly, seriously, meeting their eyes one by one. "It's metastasized."
I peeped at Rayne and smiled meekly. Sally and Elizabeth moved up to comfort me but Rayne held them back and I smiled wistfully, fixed the floor with an intense gaze and sighed. Tyler moved her sexy geek body closer, and touched her chest, hand to her heart, a forlorn smile touching her lips.
They were my best friends. Each one dearest to me in the entire world. I'm still not sure why I have them in my life because I've not done anything to deserve such loving and caring friends.
We were scattered about the living room in various states of disheveled; all lost in our private musings.
I grinned at Morgan. "It's time for dessert, Bull Durham." Morgan flashed a brilliant grin.
I looked at my friends and smiled impishly. "And y'all need to seriously enlighten me about anilingus.
Jillian's face blushed a deep pink and I stroked her thigh, spider-walking my fingers towards her pussy. She tried to push me away. "Erin. Stop it! You're embarrassing me."
She's cute when she whines. I smiled and kissed her dimpled knee. Her glistening cunt pulsed and I shivered. "Get the mat, little Yoda. We're all playing Twister this evening."
Jillian looked slightly shocked, more frozen than afraid, like a deer in the headlights of a speeding car. I stroked her cheek gently and smiled, trying to reassure her, wondering if she understands the comfortable intimacy I share with these few closest friends.
"Jillie, we've all slept together in the past. Not often. It was rare, actually. Sometimes it was all of us, sometimes just a few of us. But when it happened it was special." I stroke her shocked face as she blushes. She moves her thighs and flexes them, trying to draw her knees closer together, and I smell her musk. She is wetting, and aroused. "We don't have sex with each other now, and never did when one of us was committed to a relationship.
"I want to give you what you want little Dyke, but I'm scared. I need to be coached and I want to learn." I am pleading as I look into her baby blues. Damn, how do her eyes sparkle with flecks of emeralds? I pet her face and nuzzle her lips.
"I only want to please you, Jillie. But my friends know me. They can teach me, explain it to me. I want to love you like you crave..."
Eleventh part: "Girl, I get up in that ass like K.Y Gel..."
(In which, with heartfelt apologies to J. R. R. Tolkien, we are 'Out of the frying-pan into the fire', or perhaps 'Queer Lodging'...)
Jillian speaks:
One week after the infamous roof dive, Erin had grudgingly accepted medical leave, refused all the invites to talk shows (even turned down Jimmy Fallon, twice) and has healed quickly so far. "Sorry, Erin." Chief Inspector Grasse-Tyson had told her that night in the ICU. "You know its standard procedure. Take a few weeks off, girl. Heal and enjoy yourself for a while. That's an order."
Unsurprising, the Police and the Civilian Review Boards found no issues of improper conduct or negligence; Erin was even commended and awarded the Medal of Valor which she tossed in a drawer with her other citations and never thought about again.
In the kitchen, Erin is humming and piddling about, doing food prep and looking sexy, her olive naturally bronzed skin glistens from the heat of the stovetop. She's nude with a kitchen towel lazily tied around her hips as an apron. Her firm buttocks flex and tease out from under the towel as she moves and her abs ripple and pert breasts jiggle as she moves efficiently amongst the tasks of cookery. Carla is coming to dinner and I am kind of nervous. I haven't seen her since that hot night in the ICU, but have fantasized about her often, and felt guilty afterwards. Even though I've confessed my attraction and lust to Erin, I can't help feeling guilty. I can't stop thinking about her either. I'm nervous and curious and very horny and feeling extremely awkward.
The buzzer signals Carla is at the door (I hate the damned buzzer, it's too loud and intrusive) and Erin smiles and glances over her shoulder from the butcher block counter. "Invite her in, Jillian. I need to finish the second marinade." She arches her eyebrows, motioning me to the door with a coquettish grin. I'm feeling kind of sullen as I mope my way to the door, dreading seeing Carla, excited to see her, wishing she'd just go away, hoping she throws me to the floor and fucks the daylights out of me. I guess I'm feeling muddled and ambivalent.
Carla is wearing fitted cotton scrubs and smiles warmly as she breezes in and hugs me. "Hello Jillian." She holds my shoulders while stepping back and slowly, carefully, scrutinizes my face. "Gosh, you look marvelous."
Her eyes lasciviously taking me in, from my feet, up my legs, my thighs. I can almost feel her stroking up my thighs to my hips; it's eerie and sultry and I prickle with heat and lust as her eyes tickle my tummy and stroke my breasts. I gasp and fall back but she holds me, keeps me from falling. Her ebony skin glows and her breasts are sharp against her scrubs. They drape her firm full ass and her shapely strong thighs, and she smiles as I breathe in her musk and vanilla scents and slightly pant. I tremble with lust and shiver with guilt and it is overwhelming me and I feel dizzy and light headed and gasp as I step back from the door and fall against the wall.
