Love's Wicked Craft Ch. 02

Her hair was loose and clung to the back of her shoulders, but it was definitely Bailey. Her breasts, each a creamy white, smooth candy coated, California grapefruit, hung at attention, front and center, yet bounced at ease. Sergeant Brusso's attention was on, just as Cat's attention was on, the shaving of the sides of her soft, straight, yet darker blonde, pubic mound. The instant, mere seconds, seemed to extend or pause as Catherine looked up from Bailey's vulva to see her gaze met by the woman; her expression warm and without the slightest hint of offense or shame. Abruptly, Catherine put her back to her, and continued to dry herself off.

"Hey soldier!" Bailey said, "Mind if I start calling you Cat?"

"Uh, no; that's fine?"

Oh my God, that was awkward, Catherine groaned inside her head. Why didn't she close the freaking curtain? Cat suddenly thought she should dry the rest of herself somewhere else, but realized how stupid she might look if she stepped away, still dripping, only to come back for the things she'd left in her stall. So she stayed where she was, with her back toward Bailey, getting more self conscious by the second, in spite of herself. What the Hell! Brusso never showers after a work out, not here anyway. Oh please don't be staring at my ass. I'm not sure it's gotten any smaller at all!

"What's wrong with you Cat? Turn around."

Oh my God no, please.

"You've got nothin' to be shy about. You're making really significant gains. You should be proud of yourself."

Hello, thought Catherine as she fumbled with her towel. I can be proud of myself while you're not evaluating my naked body.

"Uh; yeah, sure." Said Cat.

"Cat." Bailey stretched the word, "Come on now. It's okay. Being able to strut naked in front of other people can do great things for your self-confidence. Avoiding it will only serve to feul any hang-ups you might have, or reinforce the negative self perception you're here to try to break down."

Oh great; intuitive too. Catherine heaved a sigh and turned around; revealing her noticeably slimmer body and, regrettably, the major source of her shyness: the fact of her seventies style bush.

"That a girl soldier! Whoa, that's some serious camouflage you've got on your clam there."

"Oh my God Bailey!" Groaned Catherine as she turned back around.

"No no no, come on; I'm sorry Cat. I was just messing with you! Seriously; you look fantastic."

Bailey's laughter quickly faded into silence. Her back still directed toward her, Catherine didn't see that the other woman had moved on to shaving her legs.

"If it's any consolation," offered Baily, "I've never had a client that showed such great results in such a short amount of time. And, I can tell by your skin that you're not taking any diet pills or doing stupid things with your food, if you know what I mean."

"I don't." said Catherine; willing herself to turn and face her trainer, "I mean; thank you. I get so few compliments that I guess I forgot how they sound."

"Well what's the deal Cat? Man in your life's got nothin' good to say?"

"Not anymore; I mean, not for a long time."

"Yeah right." Bailey agreed, a knowing look in her gray eyes, "Not until the next time one comes around beggin'. They're dogs I tell ya'; dogs."

Certain that she'd spent enough naked therapy time with Bailey, Catherine grabbed up her toiletries and moved off to where she could blow dry her hair. A matter of ten minutes past before she saw Brusso's advancing reflection in the mirror. Wrapped in her own towel, she went about drying her long blonde locks in the next mirror. A stream of members began to flow past them as Cat and Bailey dried their hair and applied their make up; passing their time with an exchange of innocuous inquiry and friendly banter. Finally dressed, Cat bid her trainer farewell and exited the locker room.

As she crossed the parking lot, Catherine wondered what Hannah might be up to. She thought of the garden she'd helped start in Hannah's huge back yard. Is she taking care of it? Probably not. She's too wrapped up. Hannah had never taken so long to call her back or stop by the apartment. Regret sunk like a stone in the pit of her stomach. There's someone for everyone, Cat mused; and sooner or later, we find them. Which to Cat meant that once Hannah finds that special someone, she'll have no reason to continue fostering their friendship.

A sudden, profound sadness came over Cat as she spotted her Omni. She'd devoted so much time to Hannah; stuck by her while others took off because they feared her Asperger's, like they'd catch it or as if some psycho lurked behind her eyes. What a waste, thought Cat as she arrived at her car. I'm just so sick of being disappointed in people. What the Hell does it take-

"Hey Cat." Came a whisper from behind.

Startled, Catherine turned to see Frank. He was standing very close ; looking good, fresh hair cut, shaved and dressed in his casual formal hit the bar clothes.

"Exercising, huh?" he spoke softly, "There you go. Drop a few pounds, pick up a few guys-"

"Leave me alone Frank."

Frank's expression turned suddenly to stone. Catherine held his gaze as she slowly crept her fingers along the tube of pepper spray attached to her key chain.

"Yeah, sure." He said, a harshness entering his voice, "I understand that's what you want. You made that very, very clear. That's cool. I'll just come back when you're not around, work out, you know, and; tell a few of the guys about how much you like to eat shit."

Ashamed, embarrassed, her cheeks suddenly very warm and certainly very red, Catherine still wouldn't look away. She knew she had taken a big risk, executing that odd tactic to dispel the man from her home. Cat knew that he'd tell his family, the guys at work and anyone else who'd listen. But, she'd felt so much hate for the man that night, she wanted to send the clearest message she possibly could or die trying. She didn't care. If he'd tried to touch her, Cat knew, because she'd made the decision, she'd have stabbed him as many times as it took. Of course, her plate of shit would have been sworn into evidence, and she would have been bound for one kind of institution or another, but she would still be free inside her own head.

"Just get the fuck away from me Frank. Cat said coolly, her words even, her gaze unwavering, her grip tight around the pepper spray.

"But Cat; don't I deserve some explanaition? What did I do that was so bad? "

"You deserve shit Frank. Now just; go away."

Frank advanced a step. Catherine moved her finger over the trigger button.

"What the Hell dude! Bailey shouted from her suddenly present black Prius, "I'm starving! Let's go already!"

Frank stepped back. Cat turned, somewhat astonished to see her one woman cavalry.

"Where we going?" she asked; turning away from Frank and unlocking her driver's side door.

"That Mexican place we talked about. Just follow me."

Cat, throwing her gym bag over the back seat, caught a glimpse of Frank's casual retreat before she finally got in her car and shut the door.

"So, that guy; is he anything you want to talk about?" asked Bailey as she cut a piece of chicken Quesadilla with her fork.

"What's to tell? I got tired of taking his crap, so I told him to hit the road." Answered Catherine; absently stirring the straw in her water glass, "The relationship, just like the others, had its spectacular take off, its flight into cloudless blue skies, then bam; the mission's aborted because the onboard computers say that a couple of the heat shield tiles blasted away during lift off."

Bailey paused, a look of confusion clouding her eyes as she swallowed her bite of food.

"Each affair was doomed at the start." Cat clarified.

"Oh." She nodded, "Could you pass me the ketchup?"

"Sure. Here." Said Catherine, handing over the bottle, "Let's talk about you instead. How's that?"

"Okay. What about me?"

"I don't know." Said Cat; comfortably resigned, "How about: What's with the military lingo during your sessions?"

Bailey laughed before popping a french fry into her mouth; indulging, like Cat, in the one meal during the week they could break the rules with.

"Oh, my dad decided to become career Army after he'd done two tours at the end of Vietnam. The jargon just rubbed off after a while. It was how he talked whenever he was home. Strangely, it was when he'd be at his warmest, with me anyway. My brothers and I, we all wanted to be like him, and I would have gone into service myself, if he wasn't so dead against it."

"You let your dad stop you?"

Bailey nodded as she chewed another bite of Quesadilla.

"When I told him about the idea, I was seventeen. He just stared at me for a long time, and then I watched him cry for the first and last time, and he told me: Bailey, God damn it? Succeed, fail or die, do it on your terms. But, whatever you do; don't break my heart if you can help it."

"Wow. So you didn't go."

"Nope. I kept taking care of him and my younger brothers. Dad messed around on Mom twice, and then she caught him the third time and she took off. Then I went to school for sports medicine, failed, worked out, got really good at that, tried school again and became a certified trainer."

"How about your brothers?"

"Bobby's gone into the Marines, Bryce is going to school for civil engineering and last I knew, little Bill was caught installing cameras in the girl's bathrooms at his high school."

"Oh."

"Yeah, we all can't be all that we can be I guess. Now back to you. What's standing in your way Cat? Is it you; or your regret over some unresolved trouble in your past?"

Catherine sat back then, and started to drive her fork through the pile of brown rice on her plate. Bailey waited for her answer; using one of her fries to smear a smiley face in her puddle of ketchup. Eventually, Catherine told a fairly censored tale of the demise of her relationship with Hannah and the expulsion of Frank; choosing not to mention the gender of her friend's object of affection or the fact that she'd swallowed a chunk of her own fecal matter in order to ward off her ex-boyfriend's bad juju.

"I don't know dude." Said Bailey after they'd quietly eaten for a time, "Relationships are hard. That's why you have to have ambition and independent thought. Too many women still think they need to depend on a man in order to support them or validate their identity. Bull shit. That's what I learned from both my mother and father. Men, the boys; they just don't think like we do." In our society, today, we don't need our men to be heros at war or in the movies. We need men who can rise up against their own idiocy and defeat it once and for all."

"Catherine raised her water glass, as if to toast in affirmation, and then took a drink. It was oddly pleasant, being at ease with Sergeant Brusso. Her perspective was certainly refreshing. Their dialogue was distinct from the exchanges she'd have with the ladies at the office or Hannah, though Bailey had a similar libertarian attitude and crassness that was certainly reminiscent of Hannah's. Cat knew that was the likeliest reason, other than being entertained by Bailey's unique experiences, anecdotes and peeves, that Cat was enjoying her company.

"But," Bailey continued; lowering her voice and looking conspiratorially at Cat while she pointed her fork at the roasted vegetables on her plate, "I'll tell you what. Those Chinese eggplants; those make great cock substitutes. If you get that one that's curved in that right way, it beats any cucumber out there."

"Ah, yes, Catherine mused, sex; the common denominator that always came up when discussing the tarnished virtues of men.

"Well", said Catherine, blushing slightly, "I've never actually thought of consuming anything from my garden in just; that way. Honestly, I don't think I have anything battery operated to depend on either. Wait, come to think of it; there was this back massager I had, but I forgot where I put it."

"God, that's so sad Cat."

"Come on. Really?" Whispered Catherine, "I think going auto pilot is a little over rated."

Bailey stopped to stare intently at Cat; her expression vacillating between amusement and sadness. Catherine looked away, and took another mouthful of her brown rice.

"Oh, this is one of my favorites." Bailey confessed, "I have one of these at home. It's great for vaginal or anal stimulation."

Still somewhat shocked by the fact that Sergeant Brusso also sold Randy Romp products on the side, Bailey had decided, out of the kindness of her heart, to give Catherine an exclusive, impromptu, demo party for one. She'd proposed after dinner, since Frank might become in need of an order of restraint, that they should hang out for the night. Catherine agreed. So, from the restaurant, they followed each other to the nearest liquor store, purchased bottles of the whiskey and rum that had the lowest carb content, and then headed to Cat's place.

"It's got these ribs, see, for your G spot." Bailey continued; her second glass of whiskey and water set on the coffee table beside a large, shiney lavender colored suitcase styled card board box, "Let me ask you Cat. Do you reach climax through clitoral stimulation, friction on your g spot, clitoral and anal together or clitoral and vaginal together?"

Shocked, feeling tossed between the flames of two fires, the suddenly potentially real threat of Frank, and Bailey's sudden rise through the ranks of trainer, savior and finally intimacy consultant, made Catherine a little leary about drinking the rum as fast as she was. The problem was that she couldn't drink fast enough. Cat felt she needed to get ahead, to put a false sense of indifference in front of her mounting fear. And now, peering into Bailey's big box of sex toys, feeling suitably relaxed was going to require another glassful of courage.

"Well, I've evolved; a little," she heard herself say as she got up to refresh her drink, "And-"

"And; and what?"

Catherine went into the kitchen, poured herself more rum, and then returned to her seat on the couch. She sipped her drink, flit her gaze between Bailey and the vibrator in her hand, and shrugged. Then, she gestured until finally blushing and saying:

"I think I'm clitoral anal."

"Really? You naughty girl."

Cat laughed.

"Well."" Said Cat, shrugging and taking another sip of rum.

"You're a lying sack of shit."

"Hey now!"

"No no no; no offense. I just don't believe you."

"Why not?" Catherine intoned, "Heterosexual anal sex is something 43% of women have experienced."

"Really?" said Bailey, raising her brow at Cat.

"Well, yeah; according to Hannah anyway. She stims on odd facts and statistics."

"Interesting, but that certainly doesn't substantiate your claim that you've ever been one of the 43%. I'm telling you, there ain't been nothin' that's seen the inside of that ass."

"And how would you know?" Cat asked; glowering at Bailey and crossing one arm under her breasts.

"Simple." Bailey answered; playfully eyeing Cat, "You walk like an exit only girl."

"You can't be serious." Said Cat, laughing, "I walk like you walk."

"The Hell you do! Pay closer attention next time. My walk is that; yes, dare to dream when you watch this ass strut, walk. Tell me the last time you had a dick in your ass."

"Oh my God Bailey."

Cat paused, extended the pause, and then reddened.

"There you go. So why do you think your clitoral anal?"

"Because," Cat stammered; laughing shyly, "Because, I'm interested in finding out; if that's an option for me."

Bailey set the toy down; laughing a purring sort of lazy cartoon villainess laugh as she placed the thing back in its box. Finding her drink, she took two deep drafts before setting it back down again. Then, eyeing Cat squarely, she said:

"Oh Cat; you're so cute. There's always options. Now take off your pants and undies."

"What? Why?"

"Because I am going to introduce you to what we all so very much deserve: independently securable bliss."

Hold on a minute, thought Cat. Is that what women did at sex toy demonstrations; try everything on? Suddenly, between sips of her rum, she felt a third burst of combustion. Or rather, it was the first one she'd felt that day; kindled earlier that afternoon, in the gym's shower, a little spark she'd blown on for only just a little while. Now, Catherine felt as if the fire had caught, setting flame to the wilderness inside her heart; threatening her exposure. She met Bailey's assessing gaze, her look of anticipation. Oh! You mean; she's- Really? Well; uh...

"Cat honey?" Bailey intoned, her stare unwavering, "Ask yourself, seriously: when was the last time you ever let yourself go really crazy; I mean like dirty, sexy, sweaty, so intoxicated you couldn't move for hours after?"

Cat heard a car door close outside the living room window. She stood and went to it. Presently, Bailey joined her. Together, they scrutinized the dimly lit street below. As Catherine searched for an answer to Bailey's question, realizing that Frank's car was nowhere to be seen, Cat conjoured images of those early days with Hannah, the first, uninterrupted orgasm she'd had on the washing machine that fateful day, and the moment she'd forced Frank's sheer astonishment. Nothing stood out otherwise; not her trists with George, her ex-husband, rebound Eddie or rebound Conner. It's my own fault, thought Cat. I never made anything happen for me, just for me.

"What if he shows up?" asked Cat as she took another drink.

"Well, we can call the cops," Bailey said, "Or; we can kick his fuckin ass. Don't worry soldier. I grew up with three brothers. You're safe with me."

They remained at the window for a time, peering into the night sky; Bailey's body becoming a closer presence while Cat remained, not moving or even shifting the slightest.

"Maybe you need a little something more to loosen up." Bailey suggested, dropping her voice one Smokey octave, "I mean, I just can't show you all my products without you being warmed up."

"Warmed; up?"

"Ma'am yes ma'am; warmed up. You see, i'm a believer in determinant factors and chaos theory."

"How cerebral." Said Catherine as she turned to face Bailey.

"Thank you. So I propose that you stop; and give me twenty."

"Twenty what?"

"Twenty kisses. That way, by the time you get to fifteen, you will be raring to take some of my bad girls for a ride."

"I already suck at sex with a man. What makes you think:"

"Whoa, ease up Cat! "You mean to tell me that you haven't made it with a girl not even once?"

"Does mutual masturbation during my tween years count?"

"Sort of, I guess. Seriously Cat; you've never tried by? That is so seriously gay."

Cat raised an eye brow as the already short space between them lessened further.

"Besides;" Bailey continued, "Who said anything about sex? I just brought up kissing is all. If that doesn't go well, then;, I'll just have to pack my products back up and bring them back down to the car. So; how about it? Why don't we start with ten?"

Catherine and Bailey were close enough to close their eyes and let go. Cat leaned in, paused, and then placed one slow, gentle kiss on each of Bailey's cheeks.

"What the Sam Hill Catherine!" Bailey scolded, "This ain't the French Foreign Legion! Kiss me damn it!"

Catherine found herself trying to hush her own nervous giggling as Bailey took her hand, and led her back to the couch. Once settled in next to each other, Bailey took the initiative, taking an instructional leap; leaving a trail of kisses along the left side of Cat's neck, and then drawing a line along her jaw and ear lobe. In the next instant, as Catherine realized that there had been no forethought to kisses three, four, five and six, she felt a quickening in her heart, a mad flutter in her belly and the unmistakable throb of excitement inside her sex. Then, there was absolute silence in her mind, as if all knowing and apprehension had been swallowed up inside kisses seven, eight, nine and ten. There was one thought though, that had spoken itself, whispering into Catherine's consciousness as she established her groove, both women's tongues now tasting in tune, between kisses eleven and thirteen: What should I be doing with my hands?