Afterglow Pt. 01

"This isn't me. I'm scared! This is scary!"

"It is," she said, nodding. "Let me walk you home."

"No! You'll kiss me."

She laughed in my ear. "I won't. Not if you don't want me to."

"I just want to be friends. Just friends."

"I'll try. You're very delectable, my dear."

"No men seem to think so."

She pulled back a little. "Really? Or is it the other way around?"

Olivia placed her hand on my back, nearly the tickly part of my waist. The scant touch released thousands of butterflies into my stomach.

I hardly knew the woman and I somehow ended up on a date with her. She was the first person who caught my interest in a long, long time and she had a pussy.

Then it was like someone knocked me over the head with something jagged and heavy. "Oh, God. Oh, God, oh, God. Am I GAY?!"

Olivia laughed the hardest yet. "Sweetheart, let me walk you home. You're drunk. I have no idea if you're gay or not."

She took my arm in hers and we walked through the falling snow. I murmured my address when she asked for it and then we were silent.

My building finally appeared through the white blanket of snow and I climbed the stoop, disengaging from her grip.

I dropped my keys and cursed. Olivia grabbed them and smoothly handed them to me, holding on to my hand for an extra moment.

"There's no need to panic. You are who you are, what you are, and no one can decide that but yourself. I didn't mean to upset you. I just wanted to get to know you. Please don't be angry with me. I hope you will agree to at least being my friend."

"Could we really keep it just friends?"

I looked at her for the first time since my freak out and saw her biting her lip to keep from smiling. "I don't think I could."

She looked so beautiful there. Snow catching in her dark hair, her bright eyes imploring me for something. A chance, maybe.

A part of me said, "Fuck it," and took over.

I stepped down from the stoop, wrapped my arms around her and kissed her. I ignored her wide eyes, her exclamation muffled by my lips and the cheers of two drunk guys down the street.

Once my lips met her own, everything around us melted like the snow on our faces. It was just Olivia and her delicious mouth that tasted faintly of the wine we drank. After a couple of seconds she lifted her hands to my face, cradling it as she took possession of me. It was her kiss, now—not mine. I let her kiss me, let her suck my tongue with her own until I was a shaking mess of nerves and flesh.

We kissed for an eternity under a street lamp and a purple New York sky, and it never once occurred to me I was kissing a woman because it simply didn't matter.

This was Olivia. I didn't totally know her yet, but I wanted to.

Chapter II: I Kissed a Girl

"You kissed a girl." Jacqueline pushed back her large sunglasses so she could gape at me better. She glanced around our office to make sure no one was listening. Roger, our boss, walked by and waved.

When he was gone, she focused her attention back to me and shook her head, her fiery red hair flowing with each turn of her head.

"You kissed a girl."

"And I liked it," I joked.

Because seriously, if I let myself think too much about it I was sure I'd go insane.

Olivia had left without a word after our kiss. I floated upstairs in a dream state, passed out, and woke up to the sun with a hangover from too much red wine and kisses. I didn't know what to do, and I was late for work.

At first I didn't want to tell Jackie. I didn't know how she'd take it. Then she handed me a report and the words "I kissed a girl" plopped right from my mouth.

She didn't think my joke was funny. Her peach lips frowned at me and she squeezed further into my cubicle. "I'm trying to wrap my head around this... Who was it?"

"Olivia Beringer."

Her eyes popped open. "That artist you were telling me about? Holy shit. You saw her again?"

"She asked me to dinner. I couldn't say no."

Jacqueline pulled over a chair and sat down. At least she wasn't horrified by me, or worse, scared of me. She pulled at the sleeve of my shirt. "More. Tell me more. Now."

I told her about how Olivia sent the painting, how there was this crackling awareness around her, how I'd never had such an amazing kiss before. Jacqueline listened to my whispers with amazing patience, nodding and swallowing when I described how suddenly nothing was more appealing to me than Olivia's body.

"Is it like that with...all girls?" Jackie asked, becoming self-conscious for the first time since I told her I might be gay.

I rolled my eyes. "How the hell should I know? I've only been aware another woman could excite me for about twelve hours."

She ran her fingers through her hair and shifted awkwardly on her seat. I got the drift.

"No. I'm not thinking about you like that."

I could have sworn she looked relieved. "Maybe it's just a phase. Or maybe you're, like, just into her art. Sometimes really talented people are just naturally hot. I've never been exposed to anything like that; maybe I'd become a dyke if I was around such power."

"What if it's not a phase? What the hell would I tell my parents?" I asked. I ignored the questionable use of dyke, and the strange way she seemed to be explaining away my experience. My amazing, once-in-a-lifetime experience.

She stared at me like I was a moron and let a small smirk creep across her face. She gathered up a few papers, stood, and gave one last shake of her head. "It's a phase because it's just not you, Liz. I know you."

My friend walked away, leaving me wondering just how much she knew me. And just how much I knew myself.

Later that afternoon my cell rang just as I was getting that groggy I-need-another-cup-of-coffee feeling. I peered at the screen and saw it was Olivia. That perked me right up.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Elizabeth," she said. She always sounded like she was smiling.

"Olivia. Hi. How are you?" I sounded like a moron.

"Fine, you?"

"I'm...okay."

"Would you be available for dinner tomorrow night? I was thinking you could come over to my place."

"Your place?" I'm sure I squeaked.

"Would that be okay?" Her laugh was blowing away all my second thoughts.

"That would be lovely."

"I'll text you my address. Ta, darling."

She hung up before I could say goodbye or change my mind.

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Saturday morning I woke to five missed calls from my mother and one "WHERE ARE YOU?!" text. The woman thought that if I didn't respond to her immediately I was dead in an alley somewhere. No matter how many times I reminded her I was 28 and that I'd been living on my own for many years, she couldn't accept the fact I lived a separate life. I dialed her number with reluctance and she picked up before the first ring even finished.

"Where have you been?"

I looked at the time. 9:40 AM. "Sleeping, Mom."

"This late?"

"I like to sleep in on the weekends. Like a normal person."

She made a noise under her breath. "I wanted to invite you over for dinner tonight. You haven't come over in months."

I loved my mother—truly—but she was a neurotic woman that had a habit of accentuating my own anxieties and turning me into a frayed mess by the end of a visit. My father was a quiet man who often fed into her worries. Going over for dinner wasn't something I particularly looked forward to.

"Can't tonight, Mom. I have plans."

"Ooo, a date?"

Ugh, sort of but I couldn't tell her that! She'd want to know all the details and I couldn't articulate them yet. I was still in denial about the date part, too.

"Dinner with a friend."

Mom sighed. "Always dinner with a friend, never 'movies with the boyfriend'. I worry about you, honey. You haven't dated in the longest time."

"I went on a date the other night with a coworker. It was a disaster."

My dog Toronto jumped on my bed. He must have realized I was awake and was now demanding a walk. He nudged my knee with his cold, wet nose and I squealed into the phone.

"What? What was that?"

"Just Toronto," I sighed. "Look, I'll try to stop by for dessert or something. Tomorrow would work better."

"I don't want to guilt you into it."

"You're not." She was.

I fought the desire to just hang up. Talking to her was such work. "I just have plans with Olivia and-"

"Who is that? I've never heard of an Olivia before."

Rolling my eyes, I slipped into pajama pants and hooked Toronto up to his leash. "She's an artist. I met her the other night. She's really great."

Mom was quiet for a minute. "You're going out on a Saturday night with an artist?"

I walked out into the brisk Saturday morning and stomped through a couple of inches of snow on the ground. Mom acted like an artist was a different species. Rolling my eyes, I pulled Toronto closer. "That's what I said."

"I didn't know you hung out with artists."

"Okay, Mom, gotta run. See you tomorrow maybe? Give me a call."

"Elizabeth, I-"

I pressed end, not feeling very guilty.

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Olivia lived in an impeccable brownstone in Brooklyn. My mouth dropped when I saw it. Honestly, I shouldn't have been so surprised. She clearly had money. Still, seeing the tall brick building, exuding wealth and status in New York, was intimidating. And knowing the occupant made me shiver. I rang the doorbell and quickly shoved my hands back into my pockets to keep them warm.

She answered the door wearing a stunning purple dress that drifted all the way to the black heels she wore. Her stunning brown eyes were lined with thick makeup and looked all the more exotic for it.

"Elizabeth," she exhaled, like she didn't know if I'd show or not. And truthfully I'd thought about turning back around about fifty million times.

If last time wasn't entirely wasn't a date, this was.

I blushed and smiled. "Hi."

"Come in. I'm just chopping some onions." She wiped at her eyes. "Any of my makeup leaking?"

I smiled while stepping over the threshold. "You look perfect."

Olivia shut the door and checked me out. Her whole face glowed. "Thank you. You, too."

I followed her to her kitchen where bunches of different pans sizzled. It smelled delicious.

"I love to cook," Olivia said, waving to the mess in front of us. "It soothes me." She poured me a glass of wine, clinked my glass with hers, and watched me over the rim as she took a generous sip. "What soothes you?"

It took me a few minutes to think about it. Olivia let me stutter while she went back to chopping."I-I'm not... Well. I don't know."

"You need to relax, honey. Maybe I'll give you a massage later." She grinned at my blush. "No one takes care of you, do they? Or you don't let them, perhaps."

Sipping at my wine, I shrugged. I was uncomfortable. She sensed it and changed the conversation.

"Long, hot baths soothe me, too. I think about a lot of my work in there. Images I want to see painted."

"I like baths. Bubble baths." I smiled. "I take one every night, actually."

Olivia's eyes scanned my body. "Interesting. I'd like to see you unwind. Anyway, we're having chicken tonight. I thought I better play it safe with you."

"God, I'm beginning to worry you think I'm boring!" A nervous laugh bubbled up from my chest.

"No," Olivia snickered. "I don't invite boring people over here. I'm just scared of you, a little."

My eyes widened. "Scared of me?"

"You're intimidating in your own quiet way. So smart." She cut into the flesh of the chicken, trimming its edges before throwing it into simmering oil. The scent of the onions cooking wafted over and my mouth watered. "And I don't want to do anything to freak you out."

It was calming in a way to hear that Olivia had fears of her own, in spite of her composure. It dawned on me later that maybe she was playing them up to get me to relax, but no matter what it helped to relieve the tension in my shoulders. I let out a long breath and gave her the first genuine smile of the night.

She cooked and asked me questions.

"Who was your first love?"

I had to think. "Tom. He was a lifeguard. My mom told me he was too old for me." I laughed when Olivia shook her head. "So naturally I thought he was a lot more gorgeous than he was. We started dating and I really thought I loved him. Then college happened and he cheated on me. To be fair, we grew apart." I sat down on the stool and leaned on my elbows, propping my chin on my hands. "What about you?"

"His name was Charlie. He was an American. He thought he was a poet." She rolled her eyes. "He managed to persuade me into believing that, too."

My breath caught. "Your first love was a man?"

"I'm bi, or I thought I was for years. Now I just go for pussy."

Her frank language brought the blood rushing to my face again and she barked out a laugh.

"Life is too short to use euphemisms or skirt around the issue. I like women. I like their lips, their hair, their eyes. The way they walk and talk and think. Their hips. Their brains. Their hands. Just them. Men, I've tried. I've had some great lovers that were men, and some tremendous orgasms. In the end, however, it's women for me."

"I don't know what I'm doing here," I finally whispered.

Olivia plated our dinner and then came around to lift my chin up so I looked her in the eyes. "You're experimenting. You're having dinner. You're living life."

She took the plates in her dining room, and for the millionth time since I met Olivia, I followed.

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"I've never known someone who couldn't whistle," I laughed. Tears rolled down my cheeks as she contorted her lips, failing over and over.

Olivia shrugged. "I never said I was perfect."

"You purse your lips and push your tongue back. Here, try it." I puckered my lips like a moron and let air seep through the small, wet hole of my lips.

Something changed in Olivia's face. She leaned her upper body across the small expanse of the table, ignoring my jolt of shock, and kissed me. Maybe I drank too much wine, or maybe I really wanted it, but I quickly decided it was the best kiss I ever had.

It was different kissing a woman. Describing it is difficult. She was all soft and sweet-smelling, all smoothness and feminine whimpers. Everything she touched on my body—my throat down to my breasts, heavy and aching for her hands—she had, too. It was an odd but incredibly erotic thought that had me rubbing my thighs together. Passionate desire careened into my pussy, making me wet and desperate.

My shaking hand found her hair. I pressed my fingers into her scalp, trying to bring her head closer to me. She moaned and stood, detaching her mouth from mine.

"Come," she ordered.

Somehow I got up and took her hand. She brought me upstairs. We passed beautiful painting after beautiful painting, one naked woman after another. She tightened her hand around mine to offer reassurance, and turned to smile at me over her shoulder.

Finally we walked into her bedroom. It was simple compared to the rest of her house. A painting of two faceless and naked women reclining against one another hung above her bed which was covered in pure white. Her walls were a subtle cream. And the dresser against her other wall was also white. I felt like I stepped into a Stanley Kubrick movie for a moment.

Then she touched my shoulder. I could feel the heat of her hand through my sweater.

"If you don't want this to happen, you can say so at any time. I promise I won't push anything on you." In those sex-tinted moments, her accent became heavier. In one unabashed rush, she shed her dress and stepped out of its puddle. She kept her heels on, and the sexy white lace lingerie beneath. I never expected her to wear white; it was fucking hot against the tan of her skin. She grinned as I took in an audible breath.

Something about her wearing white provoked me. I moved forward and slowly ran a hand down her arm. Goosebumps sprang up across her skin.

"Take your sweater off," she purred.

I complied. Olivia's eyes widened at the simple red bra I wore underneath. She licked her lips. "God, I want to paint you."

"Now?" My voice was throaty. I didn't sound like myself at all.

She lifted her eyebrows. "I had other things in mind for the moment. You'll have to wear that some other time. Now take off your jeans."

I was proud my hands only shook a little as I popped the button from its hole. My pulse had to be visible in my throat. Olivia just watched with perfect calmness as I slipped the denim down my smooth legs. The sensation of the jeans and the feeling of Olivia's brown eyes drinking me in had me wetter than I'd ever been. I wore red panties to match, and shivered when the air hit the moistened fabric. As I moved, my pussy slid against the silk material.

"Now your bra."

Perhaps another time, or if Olivia had been a man, I would have teased her. I would have played the age-old game of flirting, of withholding something the other partner wanted. Maybe I would have said something cliche like "you first". Maybe I would have lowered one strap and pouted.

But I was too nervous for all of that, and it didn't seem right pulling that with Olivia. I took my bra off in a rush, my nipples hardening further in the cool air. She made a sound of pleasure and brought her hands up to the lacy bra, barely concealing the dark nipples underneath.

"Get on the bed." She was no longer speaking to me in a soft, coaxing way but as an authoritative seductress who wouldn't stand for any fooling around.

I got on the bed with my knees first, quickly dropping down to my ass so I could face her. I scooted back against her pillows and watched with heavy lids while she removed her own bra. Her breasts were as tan as the rest of her, and her nipples were like perfect berries I wanted to sink my teeth into.

She brought one knee up onto the bed, stretching so that I could see the taut fabric just covering the slickness of her pussy. She laughed when I reflexively tugged on one of my nipples.

"Not such a novice after all, are you?"

I blinked. The words were foreign to me, both because of the increasing heaviness of her accent and the drugged state of my brain. She brought her other leg up to join its partner and then moved to hover over me. Her hair drifted down, the ends brushing against my sensitive nipples. I made a small noise in my throat and she snickered.

Two fingers traveled up my right inner thigh. "I wonder if you're wet? I'm willing to make a very large wager," she breathed against my parted lips, "that you are."

The fingers pressed against my soaked panties.

She grinned, her teeth perfect except for one on the left side that was just slightly crooked. "Oh, dear. I would have won." She kissed me, swallowing my groan as her wicked fingers slipped through the side of my underwear and ran across the drenched lips with cruel slowness.

"The things I'm going to do to you," she promised. "Sweet girl."

She kissed down my throat, over my collarbone. Her tongue made the journey down to my right nipple, swirling around in a frenzied circle. I arched and writhed like a wanton cat, desperate for attention.

"Oh God," I begged. Olivia hummed against my nipple, nibbling on it now and then. I thrust my hips into the air again, but I needed something else.

She licked down my quivering stomach, pausing to stick her tongue into my bellybutton. I gasped and she giggled.

"How I'll make you scream," she said against my hip.

And then that mouth sucked my wet panties into her mouth. I cried out at both the sensation of her tongue briefly against me and the sound of her sucking my juices from the fabric.

So close to an orgasm. So far away from everything I ever knew.

Looking down at her eyes, hungry for me, and seeing the curves of her perfect ass, feeling her tits pressed against my knee, I panicked.

I pushed at her forehead and backed away from her. She sat up, her expression perplexed.