Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 19

"Hi, come on in, I'm Becky," she said, letting Shane walk in. She shook hands with Shane, who looked around the suite for Cherie. "She's in the potty," Becky said. "I've so been looking forward to meeting you. I've heard great things about you. Would you like a drink?"

"Uh, sure," Shane said, putting her hairdressing kit down on a coffee table in the middle of the room. She could see into a master bedroom that had suitcases and clothes spread out.

Becky went to the bar area and Shane studied her pert little ass. "What would you like?" Becky asked over her shoulder. Shane was looking at what she would like.

"Beer's good. Or wine. Or whatever." She liked the tinkle sound of Becky's laugh.

"Cherie and I are going to a movie premiere at the Kodak Center tonight," Becky said, "and we're supposed to leave here about five thirty. It's just down the street, and we can walk from here. So we figure we should jump in the shower about four, and after we come out you can do our hair. Does that sound reasonable?" She handed Shane a glass of white wine.

"Sure, no problem," Shane said, wondering what they were going to do between now and four o'clock, but also knowing the answer.

Just then Cherie came out of the bathroom into the bedroom and then into the living room. She was wearing a white terrycloth robe and apparently nothing under it. The robe was loosely tied, and Shane could see down to Cherie's bellybutton.

"Hey, there you are, darling! I see you've met Rebecca," Cherie said, coming over to Shane and wrapping her arms around her. She kissed Shane lovingly on the mouth as though Becky wasn't in the room. After a moment Shane responded, thinking, oh, what the hell. She'd done threesomes before perhaps a dozen times. When the kiss ended, Cherie kept one arm around Shane's waist and turned toward Becky, who was watching and smiling. Shane saw she had a glint in her eyes, and knew what it meant. "C'mere, Becks," Cherie whispered to Becky. "Say hello to Shane."

Cherie brought Becky to her and into a three-way hug, then turned Becky into Shane. The pretty Asian woman had to stand on tip-toe to kiss Shane on the mouth, her arms reaching around Shane's body. They kissed like they'd been lovers for years. Cherie slid around behind Shane and reached around to unbuckle Shane's belt, unzip her fly, and tug her jeans to Shane's ankles. She bent down and patiently untied Shane's heavy boots -- those fucking Doc Martens again – and made Shane step out of them. When Shane was barefoot Cherie pulled her jeans away from her ankles, then pulled Shane's tighty-blueys down and off. Shane was naked from the waist down, and wore nothing but a man's shirt above. As Shane and Becky's tongues worked in each other's mouths, Cherie pulled down Becky's half-slip and then her tiny panties.

"Becks, look at these," Cherie said, standing and reaching between them to open Shane's shirt and reveal her breasts. "Aren't these the most yummy nips you've ever seen?"

Becky's eyes opened wide in appreciation. "Wow! And I thought mine were pretty nice. Shane, yours are fabulous. And I love how they point upward like that. May I?"

"Uh, sure," Shane murmured as Becky lowered her mouth to Shane's right breast, gently licking circles around the nipple.

"Me, too, me, too," Cherie said, taking Shane's left tit in her mouth. Shane shrugged her shirt off her shoulders and cupped her hands behind Becky's and Cherie's heads, holding them to her breasts, listening to the two women moaning and slurping happily. Cherie broke away first, grabbing both girls by the wrists and dragging them behind her into the bedroom. She turned dramatically and flopped backward on the bed. "Christ, come on, guys," she urged, "get up here and climb on!"

Becky giggled happily and climbed her way up Cherie's body, straddling her face and planting her adorable trimmed beaver onto Cherie's mouth. She grabbed the headboard and started tribbing Cherie's tongue. Shane lay down on her tummy and munched her way up Cherie's thighs to her now-bald pussy. Cherie had had a modest landing strip for several years, and the week previously had asked Shane to give her a wax trim along with her hairdo. Cherie decided she wanted a full Monty, pubes, lips, twinky. She knew Steve would love it, and Harry would want to hear every detail.

After Cherie and Becky both came, it was Shane's turn.

"Hey, Becky," Cherie said, as she lay recovering and getting her breath back, "why don't you introduce Shane to Alec?"

"Oh, good idea!" Becky said. "Let me just rest up a moment." After a minute, Becky got up from the bed slowly, and Cherie pulled Shane up to lie beside her. She kissed Shane on the mouth and said, "You taste just like my pussy."

"I wonder why," Shane replied uneasily. "Who is Alec?"

"This is Alec," Becky said. She stood near her open suitcase, and had just stepped into a strap-on with a modest pink dildo front and center. "Alec, say hello to Shane." She grasped it in her hand and shook it gently, pretending to be a ventriloquist. She changed her tone of voice to something gruff and faux masculine. "Howdy, Shane. Ah'm pleased to met ya."

Shane shook her head, and looked at Cherie. "Why Alec?"

"Because, lover, Ah leck to fuck him, and Ah leck to suck him, and most of all Ah leck to have him in my tushy. Becky, dear, why don't you put Alec through his paces. Shane, flip over."

But Shane held up her hands. "Thanks, but no thanks. I ... uh ... I don't do anal."

"No! Really? You've got to be kidding me!" Cherie said, unable to imagine there wasn't anything Shane wouldn't do. "Oh, what a waste. You've got such a beautiful ass."

Becky knelt on the end of the bed facing them. "Shane, I'll be really gentle."

Shane smiled at her. "I know, Becky. And thank you. But I ... I had a pretty bad experience with anal and a strap-on a few years ago, and I'm still gun-shy, I guess."

"Okay, I understand. But you still haven't come. What would you like for Plan B?"

"Just about anything else is fine. Fuck my pussy with it, give me head, we can trib, you can finger me or fist me, you can both do me, sixty-nine."

"What would you like?" Cherie asked, stroking Shane's back and nibbling on her earlobe.

"Well, since we have a special guest here from Hong Kong, I think I'm in the mood for some Chinese," Shane said. She pointed to the strap-on. "But I think I'll skip Column A. I'm in the mood for some ... wonton."

Cherie groaned at the pun, but Becky crept forward on her hands and knees.

"Wonton? You want wanton? Oh, Shane, baby, I'll give you all the wanton you can handle."

"Ohhhh, I want to watch this," Cherie said. "Maybe we can change your mind about your bottom problem later."

***

Actually, they did solve Shane's bottom problem, although it took two orgasms alternated with two lines of coke -- cum, snort, cum, snort -- with Shane feeling no pain as she lay between Becky's thighs, languidly licking and sucking her petite, tight, fluid, quivering, delicious, leaking pie. She fucked it with her tongue and flicked the tiny clit and its wonderful little hood from side to side, sucking it into her mouth and listening to Becky pant and groan and swear in Mandarin.

Meanwhile, it was Cherie who now wore Alec, and while Shane serviced Becky Cherie gently spread Shane's buttocks, licked her rosebud, and began to dribble lubricant over it. Shane, stoned, anesthetized on coke and endorphins, and mentally occupied with other matters, hardly paid attention, and before she knew it Cherie had straddled her bottom and had Alec's tip inside her starfish. Shane groaned and sucked, and another half inch went in. She licked and moaned, and took another inch. Becky, her eyes clenched as tight as her jaws, slipped into her third or fourth cum of the afternoon, clutching Shane's head tightly to her pussy. She came, teaspoons of juice welling up and into Shane's mouth. Before it was over Shane had five inches of dildo in her ass, and didn't mind it a bit. Cherie worked it slowly out a few inches, and then back in. Slow out, slow in. Slow out, slow in. She pushed a little deeper each time -- there was only another inch to go -- and Shane took it, groaning and perhaps only half conscious.

"Here, let me help," Becky said, after she'd recovered sufficiently. She knelt between the two sets of Shane's and Cherie's spread legs and inserted her hand under Shane's body, finding her clit and cupping it, and giving it a massage. Then she slid her other hand forward and put two fingers into Shane's pussy, pushing the fingers down until she found the rough, wrinkled surface of Shane's G-spot. After a few strokes it was all over, Shane undulating her hips under Cherie's weight but coming, coming, coming, her first bumfuck orgasm in many years. And, as anal orgasms are usually the most intense of all types, it short-circuited her brain. She bucked, she cried out, her juices flooded Becky's hand and even Cherie felt a sudden orgasm sneak up on her through the base of the strap-on. Then Shane was unconscious, lying on her stomach on the bed as Becky and Cherie quietly crept off to the shower to begin getting ready for the movie premiere. It was ten after four.

***

On Dec. 22 the Jaffes and their daughter, their minion and their maid flew to the Caymans, and got back January 6. Cherie had missed Shane's 28th birthday on December 29, and for the first time in a decade Shane felt a little lonely and sad to be spending her birthday without someone being around -- and in this case, Cherie. It was funny, because Shane normally didn't give a shit about her birthdays, and since they came so close to Christmas and New Years, she was more than used to it being submerged in all the other holiday events and hullabaloo. She hadn't had anything like a decent birthday since she was nine, and this one nearly two decades later wasn't any better. Shane was living in an apartment she shared with three very radical, very political lesbians, and she was friendly enough with them, although she'd never fucked any of them. They took her out to dinner at a trendy new vegan place, and everybody was home by 9. Whoopee.

She didn't care that Cherie was in the Caymans; she wasn't jealous. She hadn't cared when the Jaffes went to Cabo, and she didn't especially care about vacations to luxurious places, since she'd never had one herself. She didn't care that Cherie was married, and that she'd had to share her pussy and tits and mouth with her husband and perhaps a few other men and women Shane had begun to suspect were staples of Cherie's love life. Shane had fucked married women before, one-time hook-ups for the bi-curious and crazy lost weekends while the hubby was away, but no repeaters and nobody serious. There had been a couple of clingers, like that Lacey Driscoll. But there hadn't been anyone who Shane ... she searched her mind for a verb. It wasn't "love," of course; that would have been absurd. But some slightly lesser word than love, something a couple of emotional tiers below. She could find no satisfactory word, probably because the English language had nothing. "Liked" was simply insufficient. "Liked a whole lot" was ridiculous. "Had a crush" began to circle around it, but "crush" sounded so juvenile, so high school. And ephemeral. And transitory.

But even more absurd was the woman herself. How could Shane "have feelings for" (how lame, how weak, how pathetic) a married, forty-five-year-old, loud, rich, spoiled, self-centered, self-involved, hedonistic, sybaritic -- Shane had to stop thinking of all the many negatives Cherie had, both as a person, as a partner, as a lover, and how many reasons why ... having feelings for ... this woman was crazy. It wasn't just absurd, it was like some twisted cosmic joke, some karmic retribution for all the girls and women Shane had fucked without so much as a moment's emotional involvement.

Sitting at her kitchen table with a beer in her hand that she hadn't touched in ten minutes, Shane completed processing something that had been in her head for two months. It didn't matter that these ... feelings ... for Cherie were irrational and made no sense. These kinds of feelings never did make sense. Love (if that's what it was) never made any sense. But here was the insight: Her crazy feelings for Cherie kind of matched the crazy feelings Lacey had had for Shane.

Light bulb.

One night Shane had been hanging around Milk and in came this interesting pussycat. Shane's antennae stood up and she began processing the incoming data. First vibe: a lot of contradictions. Complicated, buried under simplicity. Cute ... over a darker soul. No, that wasn't right. Cute, over an injured soul. Lacey was blessed with a round baby face that seemed younger than her true years. She wore her hair dyed platinum and short and spikey, going grunge and punk -- but over a heart that wasn't punk at all. She looked soft butch, and might have been trying for andro, but couldn't quite pull that off, either. There was too much femme, too much girl underneath. She was shorter than Shane, but had a broader build, broader shoulders. She wasn't fat, wasn't a chubette ... but she was, what? Chunky, Shane decided. Compact, that was it. Shane couldn't immediately tell if she lifted weights or was a bodybuilder, but Shane sensed that inside Lacey a thinner, sleeker girl was trying to get out, and couldn't. Accordingly, since she couldn't pull off lipstick lesbian, she went the other way. So that explained the spikes on her head, the Goth eyeliner and sooty eyelashes that sat above apple cheeks and a beautiful smile. Okay, a beautiful, sulky pout. Nice tits, a reasonable handful, set high. They would be nice, Shane knew. Good hips, nice butt, a handful, to be sure. Her stressed, tie-dyed and ripped jeans were packed full of firm Lacey, and it would be interesting watching her squirm out of them. No tighty-whities; Shane knew instinctively that under the butch outerwear Lacey had on a frilly white bra and girlie panties.

The girl had come in with a couple of friends, and as she scanned the room her eyes fell upon Shane, thirty feet away and regarding her thoughtfully. No, not Kismet, not lightning. No thunderbolts, no Cupid's arrows. But ... yes. Two women thirty feet apart in a semi-dark, crowded, awfully loud dyke meat market, each thinking, okay, there's a possible over there at twelve o'clock.

It took twenty minutes, Shane not moving and Lacey doing all the running, because she was searching and lacked Shane's inner tranquility. But here she came, working her way closer, and then she was standing next to Shane, watching people dancing in the center of the room.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi," Shane responded.

"Place is really jumping," Lacey said. "I'm Lacey." She offered her hand to shake, which Shane understood was to make physical contact. Here I am, take me. I need to be held. Touch me. Touch me lots of places.

"Shane," she said, shaking Lacey's hand. I'd be happy to touch you.

"Buy you a beer?"

Shane looked at the bottle in her hand, which she'd gotten only a minute ago, and which was still three-quarters full. "Well, I tell ya what, I'm in pretty good shape here, but instead let me buy you one." She liked the way Lacey's face lit up.

"Sure, okay. Cool." Touch me. You can have me. Anyway you want. Right here on the floor.

Shane took Lacey's wrist and turned away, threading her way through the crowd toward the bar. Lacey was happy to be tugged along.

Forty minutes later they were in Shane's pickup in the parking lot, wrestling like God and Jacob, their hands all over each other's thighs, tongues writhing in each other's mouths.

"Where can we go?" Shane panted. "All my roommates are home and one of them has a cold."

"My place," Lacey panted back. "It's up in Silver Lake, near the reservoir, off the 101."

It was six miles away and took them fifteen minutes to get there, Shane driving like a maniac. Lacey explained that she had recently broken up with somebody after a long-term thing, a singer, pretty famous, maybe Shane had heard of her, Teri Lethbridge, and she had had to move into the first apartment she could find, temporarily, until she could get a new place, and God, she was so fucking horny she couldn't wait to get Shane naked, the last couple months with her partner the pop singer had been contentious and she hadn't gotten laid in months, fucking months, and she wanted someone to lick her pussy so bad, the whole story and all her troubles and lust and want and need gushing out, a female ejaculation of the psyche.

Shane drove, listened and groaned to herself that she'd only known this girl for an hour and already she was telling Shane her story, and that was against the rules. Never tell your story, never let them tell you theirs.

Lacey knelt on the seat facing Shane as she tried to drive, tonguing Shane's ear and stroking her. "Do you give good head? God, I hope you do! I need it so bad. I'll do anything you want. What do you like? I'm so hot, and you turn me on so much, Shane, my God, I want you. I bet your tits are wonderful and I want to suck them. Do you like tits? You can play with mine all night long, I love to have them licked and kissed. I bet I come three, four times, like, in twenty minutes. Are you shaved? I don't care, I'm just asking. I don't care if you're bald or hairy, I just wanna get my mouth on your pussy. Mine's spikey, just like on my head, my ex once joked it was like cunnilingus on a porcupine but she was only joking around. Do you squirt? I don't, but I get pretty wet sometimes."

"I like to trib," Shane managed to get in.

"Ohhhh, that's my new favorite! Do you really? I haven't tribbed in a long time. I'm so excited! Turn left up there, where that white car just turned. Oh, wow, I can tell already you've got a great body for it. Do you care if you're on top or bottom? I don't care, you can do me any way you want. I saw you right when I walked in tonight and I knew, okay! There she is, that chick knocks my socks off, I'd sooo love to do her. And then we were talking and you bought me that beer and already I was getting wet just thinking about you. The next right. What do you do? I'm a graphic designer for an ad agency, I'm, like, a PhotoShop expert."

Chick? Had she really said "chick"?

"I'm a hairdresser," Shane said, driving.

"Hey, cool. I'm sorry, I know I'm, like, crazed. I'll shut up. It's just I'm excited."

"It's okay," Shane said, laughing, because this girl was kind of funny and charming, and hell, she was enthusiastic, and she sure hid nothing. She wasn't a game-player, and Shane always liked that. And she told you what she wanted and needed, and there was a lot to recommend about that approach, no fucking guessing games. And she was cute, and hot, and Shane was always a listener, not a talker, so it didn't matter if Lacey filled up the dead air. And Shane's gaydar and radar told her she'd be a really good fuck, and she was, as it turned out. She really was.

Thirty hours later Shane dragged her ass out of Lacey's bed and drove home for a quick shower and change of clothes before she went to work. Shane was breaking rules all over the place, staying at Lacey's for Round Two, and lunch, and Round Three, and dinner, and Round Four and sleeping overnight for the second night in a row. Somebody call fucking Guinness Book of Records. Washing off dried cum in the shower, Shane's thighs were actually sore from tribbing, and her fingers hurt, and so did her jaw. Lacey loved it all, but she loved getting head most of all. Sixty-nine was Lacey's lucky number and they had actually fallen asleep in that position.

As she dried off, Shane began to think about the day ahead, the clients she had scheduled, and the rest of her life. She assumed she'd probably never see Lacey again. She was wrong.