Afternoon In La La Land

Shifting over to her chair, she leaned back once again, stretching naked in the sunshine just as easily and gracefully as a cat. "Do me in front?"

Interesting phrasing, I thought. 'Do' is such an all-purpose verb these days. I just rolled with it. "OK."

She reached her hands very high, over her head. I started with the palms, and then quickly downward to the shoulders.

After spreading lotion onto her face and neck, just as carefully as she had mine, my hands slid smoothly down to her breasts, and I paid them careful attention. I remembered once again the sight of her dress falling as I watched between, the instant I realized that I was actually going through with undressing her. And that she was letting me.

"No lotion on the nipples, please. Everywhere else, but not there." I had no idea why not, but she seemed to think it was important, so I just swirled around, between, and moved lower. "I suppose I could try," she said quietly, eyes closed and head tipped far up, chin pointing directly into the afternoon sun. "You know. There. Back there. Someday. With the right someone. Someone with some... experience. Back there."

"Oh?"

"But not with a sale pending, never. I just couldn't. I wouldn't want to think that someone thought that I thought I had to. To make the sale."

"I see. I think."

"But after we close..."

I had decided, somewhere around the bottom of her ribs, to continue straight down to the toes in a single pass, not to jump over and work back up like we'd both done before. She had other ideas.

Just as soon as I got near her throughly waxed mons, she lifted one leg straight up into the air, pointing the toe like a Rockette. Held very still for me as I took the hint and worked down from ankle to hip, then lowered it and raised the other.

"Not yet," she whispered before I could start on her pubic area. She reached way up above her and stretched out fully one again, arching her back high, her legs parallel, her knees chastely together. Then she settled back and opened, like a curtain parting. She hooked her heels around the sides of the chair, and waited once again.

I hesitated, not exactly sure what she wanted me to do next. What I wanted to do next. Just how surprising this day was going to turn out to be, and for whom.

Casually, she reached up and stroked my face. Moved her hand along my cheek, down to my neck, and then back up behind my ear. Ran her hand through my hair. Squeezed some between her fingers, very softly. Pulled, just as softly. In and downward. Mostly downward.

"I am way, way out of practice with that sort of thing."

"Oh, that's OK, I'm not. I'll let you know what to do, maybe even help you some in a little while. It'll be fine, really. And after all, turnabout..."

I really couldn't disagree. "I suppose..."

As I approached, allowing her to guide me, she pulled out her her cell phone and flicked it to life.

"You know," she purred huskily as she tapped buttons with one hand and pressed me in with the other, "this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

*****

Chapter Five: A Brief Interlude

We drifted side by side, lazing away the afternoon naked in the sweltering heat. She had seemed to have a good time, I guess. I had forgotten how... interesting... women tasted. I couldn't possibly tell how much of her moaning was me, how much was her own fingers, and how much was just for show. Guys never know for sure, I guess.

But I tried my best, stirring my tongue around, hoping to tell by the sounds and feel what worked. Eventually she tapped me on the shoulder and whispered "That's fine." She pulled my head up for a lingering kiss, then turned it and carefully wiped my lips with her shoulder. We snuggled together for a while.

Finally I unwrapped my arms and e-mailed my agent, telling him to prepare a formal offer, including all the standard conditions plus a few extras and a very long escrow period. And to emphasize that it was all-cash. I didn't mention who I was with, what we had just done, or how many California Department of Real Estate ethics rules we'd violated.

Arms back around, she and I lay together for a while, rolling this way and that every now and then trying to even out the bright sunshine on our skin, quietly chatting about nothing in particular. Somehow, she wandered onto the subject of her husband.

"He was the only boy in town who had any ambition at all, wanted to do something with his life, be somebody. And I was the only girl, I think. Everybody I knew seemed happy to just eat barbeque, drink beer, and make babies for the rest of their miserable lives.

"Lone Springs, Oklahoma. Yeah, it was just as awful as you imagine. And worse than you can imagine in the summer. Wind and dust like you couldn't possibly believe.

"We were both so damned desperate to get the hell out of that place, that's all we really had holding us together. Well that plus he was just so damned gorgeous, and I was young enough, stupid enough, to think it mattered. But on the good side, he did get me to LA like he promised, so I've got to thank him for that I guess."

"Hmmm..."

"He wanted to be a rock and roll star in the worst way, and I guess he's getting his wish – the worst way part I mean. I still hear about him playing some dive or another now and then.

"After almost a year of his hands up my bra and down my panties, I finally let him screw me on my high school graduation night. In the back seat of his Camaro, he was my first. I graduated a virgin, just like I'd promised my mom, god knows why. I turned eighteen the following Tuesday, and Wednesday morning at four AM we were on the road to California. We got married passing through Vegas."

My cell phone burbled, an e-mail confirming the offer had been sent. I glanced at the subject line and put it aside unread.

"We kicked around West Hollywood for a while, I thought it was absolutely the most amazing place in the world. At first sleeping in the car, then staying with other musicians, actors, even a wanna-be rodeo clown, I kid you not. What the hell he was doing in LA I didn't figure out until way later. I'd led a very sheltered life up 'til then, you see, and I had no idea how much I still had to learn. And unlearn.

"I got a job cocktail waitressing and we moved into a stinky little one bedroom just off Santa Monica Boulevard. I worked all night, he played music all night, we slept all day and it actually worked out pretty well. Meant I didn't have to listen to him all that often, he really wasn't very good back then. More ambition than talent I guess.

"But I hear he's getting better these days. Practicing a lot. By the time he's sixty he might even get to be pretty good."

"Cattiness does not suit you, m'dear," I pointed out.

"Sorry. You're right."

She turned a little and rested her head on my chest, one breast pressing soft and comfortable into my side, the other into my chest. I got an arm around her shoulder and encouraged her a little closer still.

"But anyway," she continued, a little softer now, "He kept getting into and then breaking up with bands, I kept the rent paid, and things were pretty good, mostly. At least I didn't have to put up with my fucking parents any more, and that was worth aching feet and a pinched butt all by itself. The beach, the clubs, the dope were all just a nice bonus.

"We lived a couple doors down from another couple, both of them from the Dallas area. We had a lot in common, although unlike us they'd come to LA separately and met here. In an acting class, I think.

"Anyway, we'd get together with them every now and then for KFC and cheap Chardonnay and talk for hours ab–" Her cell trilled, interrupting. Reluctantly, she grabbed the phone, then flicked to read the message.

"That was quick. Like I said, he's screaming. Calling your offer an insult, telling me not to negotiate with you. Doesn't want to hear from you again, ever. Don't worry. Just give him a few minutes, he'll counter directly to your agent, which he knows he's not supposed to do but he just can't help himself. But be prepared, you won't like his number. And it is an absolute bargain even at the current asking, you know."

She was still his agent. And business is business.

"All part of the game," I said.

She dropped the phone aside and settled downwards a little more, shifting slightly, getting comfy. Her naked skin against my naked skin, both of us lightly coated with lotion and sweat. "Part of the game. Where was I?"

"Eating chicken and drinking wine just off Santa Monica Boulevard."

"Right, OK, yeah. Young and in love I guess, at least in a way, and real, real, stupid. And horny as hell, too, but too stupid to even know that. I'd hated sex ever since that back seat, it was nasty and uncomfortable, and it never seemed to get any better even after we had a real bed. Plus he was too stoned to, ahhh... perform... most nights anyway. I bought a vibrator at a dirty little shop over on Vine Street and that pretty much put an end to our having sex at all. He didn't seem to mind. Or even notice, for that matter. He sure as hell didn't say anything.

"But anyway, one afternoon the guys were at somebody's place watching a football game or something, and she came over to chat. We got to talking, drank some wine, smoked a little, and suddenly from out of nowhere she's crying her eyes out. Her sex life was every bit as crappy as mine, and she didn't know what to do about it either. And then we just... kind of... fell into each other's arms.

"I mean, it was a life changing experience, I kid you not. Finally, something that felt right, made sense, worked without needing batteries.

"We didn't have a clue what to do, of course. What went where. We'd never done anything like that before, or even thought about it. At least not in any kind of, ahhh, anatomical? I guess that's the word. Detail. But somehow it didn't seem to matter. Our clothes melted away, our hands and our lips just seemed to find all the right spots by themselves and without having to think about it. Which was a good thing, if I'd thought about it for even an instant I'd never have done it. That's how stupid I was.

"But thank god I didn't think, and from out of nowhere I was in love all over again. Or maybe for the first time, I don't know. But married. And raised to take that seriously, no matter how much I hated my parents.

"We'd tell our husbands they needed a 'guys night out', and then go down on each other for hours while they were away. I kept telling myself it wasn't really cheating, there was no sperm, no chance of getting pregnant, so therefore it didn't actually count as, you know, 'sex'. But even stupid as I was then, I knew way down deep that it did count as 'love', which I was slowly discovering meant way more.

"It was only a matter of time, getting comfortable being queer. And in West Hollywood you can get comfortable with that kind of thing pretty fast.

She turned over on her other her side, facing away, and pressed her back and bottom into me. She wiggled a little, keeping my arm below her neck and getting my still soft cock between her cheeks, then snuggled backwards so we could spoon. She pulled my other arm over and around her waist, holding my hand to her navel. She felt good, I squeezed lightly.

"Basically, I think, I was just waiting for us to get caught, for things to come to a head, so as to speak. Something to push us over the edge. And it did, but not exactly the way th–"

It was my phone's turn to interrupt us. A counter-offer had in fact arrived, just like she promised. I skimmed the message quickly. "Hang on a second, don't lose track. I've got to counter this right away. With luck we may wrap things up by sunset."

He had come down in price a lot more than I expected, and wanted a much faster escrow and no extra conditions – which I did expect. I got my hand out from below her neck, I really can't type one handed, and e-mailed my agent telling him to counter with a small increase in the money, but agreeing to his closing date and dropping a few of the less important conditions. All part of the game.

When I looked up she had turned back to face me, elbow on the chair, and head on her hand. She was frowning, obviously very, very disappointed. Was it by being interrupted just when her story was getting to the good part? She was a writer after all. Or disappointed at the price she saw me thumbing into the e-mail back to my agent?

"That's not much of a bump," she pointed out.

"Time is money, honey. He wants fast, he's got to expect to pay for it. There's taxes, maintenance, insurance right up until the deal clears. Then they're my problem. Plus the sooner he gets my cash, the sooner it starts earning interest for him and not for me. He'll probably counter once more at least, but when we've got a deal I'll let you treat me to a nice dinner from all the money you're about to split with my agent, and soon."

"Soon is good, I guess. But don't send it out right away, OK?" She reached over and stilled my hand over the phone's screen. "Let him wait for a bit."

"Huh?"

"He can't interrupt us until he gets the counter," she pointed out coyly. The storyteller had won out over the agent. "Plus, waiting makes him antsy. He'll be that much more eager to deal in a little while." Or maybe not.

I put the phone down, wrapped both arms around her shoulders and we got back to being comfortable just lying in the sun together.

"Whatever you say. And you were saying...?"

"The Unexpected Twist. That's what I was working up to. Before we were so rudely interrupted."

A thought struck me. "But before you go on, tell me – just how much of this is actually, you know, true? And how much is a script you're writing?"

"Busted!" she squealed, burying her face in her hands. She peeked up at me from between her fingers. "Sorry?"

Then lowered them, turning a bit more serious. She eased back down to rest on my shoulder again, but now looking off into the distance, not at me. I got my arms around her again, soft and easy and comfortable.

After a while, she went on. "A lot of it is true, actually. Most even." Her voice was quiet once more. Thoughtful. "It gets harder and harder to say, though. With every draft." She took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "Now, just hush and let me tell my story, will you? Then you can send in your offer, and then we can finish up here."

Interesting phrasing, I thought again. She really did have a way with words. 'Finish up.' Saying just enough, but not too much. Implying. Teasing?

Shut up you idiot and just go with it, is what I thought. "Certainly, m'dear. Please, continue," is what I said.

"OK OK, anyway, the story so far – I was hoping to get caught with my lesbian lover, preferably in bed, preferably with my tongue up her twat, so I could get out of a rotten marriage without having to, you know, deal with the thought that it was really all my fault, that I never should have gotten married in the first place.

"But instead one day I caught her husband sucking mine in their bathroom while he jerked off. The guys had been sneaking around and having sex a lot longer than we were, no wonder they were never at home. And everyone oblivious to the situation. I broke out laughing on the spot as the whole sorry mess flashed clear to me all at once. They both lost their erections, and I don't think either one has ever quite forgiven me. Although they've screwed plenty of times since then, and plenty of other guys too I bet.

"Once all the yelling quieted down we worked it out. I moved in with her, her husband moved into our apartment, and everything was fine again. Much better even. We still got together for dinner too.

"Then they ruled same-sex marriage was legal in this state. I filed for a quick divorce, and in my very last act of teenage rebellion we got married the first day we could. Stood in line for hours. I so, so wanted to get back in touch with my parents, just to tell them I'd married a girl. Give them both heart attacks. Serve them right for all the crap they put me through growing up. In the end, though, I didn't.

"Because, you see, it was slowly dawning on me that I might not actually be all that queer, that I just had a rotten lay for a husband. He was still the only guy I'd ever slept with, you see. And I was tempted constantly to find out. To cheat on my spouse. Again. And eventually I did, of course.

"One of the regulars at the restaurant I was working at then had been coming on to me, very gently, probably without much hope, for a year or so at least. I'd told him that I was married, and never mentioned the switch in spouses. He seemed like a nice guy and, well, I wanted to know.

"So I told him I'd divorced my husband, which was true of course, and I just didn't mention what happened after. He really was very gentle and patient and sweet with me, in a lot of ways it was actually my first time – with a hetro guy at least. And I tell you, I saw stars. And then again, a few days later. The third time really convinced me. I never told him about the ugly, screaming break-up I worked up the courage for a few weeks later.

"It turns out that she really is gay, was all along, but I was just passing through dyke to someplace else. She got over it eventually. She's got a new girlfriend now who's a lot nicer to her than I was. I sold them a cute little two bedroom on Franklin Avenue, real pretty and they got a great deal. We divorced so they can get married whenever it's legal again.

"I moved in with the guy, he sold real estate and helped me get my license and then a job. But I'd learned my lesson, I didn't marry him right away. Good thing too, because one day after visiting his kids he managed to knock up his ex-wife, and they decided to give it another go. But he did sell me his condo for a very good price. I flipped it right around the top of the boom, and made a bundle.

"These days, I date guys sometimes, girls now and then, but mostly I work on my career. I've hustled my ass off and managed to go from crappy little bungalows in Culver City to estates in Beverly Hills in only a few years.

"So, that's my story." She took a little bow as I quietly applauded. "And most of it's true. The important parts at least. I left out the dull parts, bridged over a bunch of things. Punched up the big reveal. Lied about the virginity, but only by a couple of months. I thought it was more poignant that way. Oh! And for the record? He only thinks he's that gorgeous. Now why don't you send in your offer, so we can finish up before the sun goes down?"

I reached for my phone, she reached for the suntan lotion.

*****

Chapter Six: Who Owes Who

After the e-mail was winging its way through the airwaves, she gestured for me to lie back and began spreading more lotion on me. "You first. You're so pale!" she explained, "You need it way more than I do."

Face, neck, chest, tummy in only a little more time than it takes to tell. Jumping over the cock to toes, working upward quickly, and then massaging into my balls with one hand, stroking the shaft with the other. Lots of friction on just the right spots.

So, that's how she wanted to complete the afternoon. I really hadn't planned on anything like this, but I wasn't in a mood – or a position – to object.

I tipped my head up to admire her technique. "You do that well. I'm impressed."

"I had to learn. If I wanted any action at all."

"Hmmm." There was really no good way for me to respond to that. So I moved along. "There are some condoms in my jacket pocket. Hang on a second, let me go get." I pointed across the deck, well out of our reach.

"Way ahead of you, Big Boy." She dipped into her purse and came up with a black, square package. She showed me the label. "Trojan Magnum. They work for you?"