Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 26

"You ready?" Carmen asked. Robin nodded. "Here we go."

Carmen used a small comb and the scissors she'd bought at the pharmacy to trim Robin's bush as closely as she could, and then gently washed her pussy and dried it again. "We want to trim away as much as feasible," she said, "so there's less to shave." Carmen opened the small bottle of pre-shave oil from the starter kit. "This stuff is unscented, but you can get it in lemon, sandalwood or lavender," Carmen said, still in teacher mode herself. "Whichever you get, it doesn't clog your pores, so that's good. Believe it or not, it softens hair better than shaving cream does, and being an oil it lubricates the razor better, too." She began rubbing a few drops onto Robin's mons and down her vulva. "Lift up," she said, and when Robin did she slid an oil-slick finger across her perineum and around her anus. Robin clenched her eyes shut and shivered and bit her lip.

"Are you gonna ...?"

"Yes, I am," Carmen said, laughing. "No French Wax for you. And anyway you hardly have anything back there." She quickly rinsed her hands in the sink and sat back down. She put a dollop of shaving cream on Robin's bush and used the brush from the starter kit to spread it around.

"Oh, my Gawd," Robin breathed. "How do you keep from coming when you do this?"

Carmen laughed. "Once you get used to using a shaving brush down there you'll never do it any other way. It makes the hairs stand up and fluff up a bit. Like I said before, this is a really tender area, and every trick or tip or technique you use to give yourself a smooth finish is worth the effort. Otherwise you get red bumps and ingrown hairs, to say nothing of nicks and cuts. And yes, you can do it yourself, but it really is sooooooo much better if someone does it for you."

"Do you and Shane do each other?"

Carmen nodded. "Yes. And she's a hairdresser, too, so this kinda falls into her professional expertise. In her beauty salon she usually just does hair on people's heads, but every once in a while she does a Brazilian or a Hollywood on somebody. She used to do the hot wax method, which is what she was taught in cosmetology and hairdressing school, before anybody really knew about sugaring. I taught her how to do sugaring, and now it's the only method she uses on her customers or me. Okay, we're all lathered up here. It's decision time, and you have to tell me what you want. A landing strip? Do you want the full bald? Just to the bikini line?"

"Since you mentioned it in the car," Robin said, "I've been thinking about it. At first I wanted the whole thing off, the Hollywood, you called it. But I've been thinking--"

"Yes?"

"I've only ever seen one other shaved pussy, and only ever eaten one. I want mine to look exactly the same. I want a little triangle, just like yours, same size, same place. Your beautiful Persian carpet."

"Awww, baby!" Carmen grinned. "Oh, you are so sweet!" She leaned forward and kissed Robin tenderly.

"I want to look just like you," Robin said, her eyes glistening. "You're my mentor, my role model. You're teaching me so much."

Carmen's throat was constricted and there were tears in the corner of her eyes. She was even on the verge of telling Robin that she loved her, when she caught herself and realized the sudden seriousness of that statement, and what it might mean in relation to Shane. And then she realized that Robin had also brought herself up short, just on the verge of the same pronouncement. They were both on very thin ice.

"Hold still," Carmen said, focusing hard on her work. "Here we go."

***

Robin went with Carmen to the hotel ballroom to help load DJ equipment and cartons of CDs into Carmen's Jeep. When they were done, Carmen walked Robin back to her own car. Robin turned out to be a Volkswagen Beetle girl, the V-Dub painted robin's egg blue.

"Thanks for helping me load up my stuff," Carmen said, as they stood awkwardly by Robin's driver-side door.

"No problem," Robin said, once again the shy, quiet type now that she was standing in the middle of a public parking lot where the whole world could see them. What the world couldn't see was the small triangular patch of pubic hair atop Robin's marvelous mons pubis, nor would the world know it had been properly christened on Carmen's rumpled bed sheets by Carmen's kisses and licks only a few moments after Robin's fifth shower in a 29-hour period. It was Robin's fifth orgasm in the past 14 hours, not quite a "personal best" record for Carmen and her skills, but close.

Carmen was suddenly overwhelmed with the knowledge of all the many things she still had not had time to teach this girl, all the things she hadn't done. My God, there were so many! What did Robin know of water sports? Maybe she'd enjoy peeing in the shower, and letting her lover watch. Or maybe not, but who knew? Her rosebud. Except to dab on the oil and cream to shave a few stray hairs from its vicinity, Carmen hadn't done any anal play with this woman, hadn't so much as run a nice wet finger over her twinkie even one time. Never gave her the thrill of that first finger insertion, or that first lick. There was an entire rosebud cherry still waiting to be lovingly harvested. All the rules and tips and tricks of anal play-- water-based lubricants, go slow, it shouldn't hurt, all the sanitary precautions, even the location of the deep spot, the rectal companion to the G-Spot. Never make it the first orgasm, but the second or third one, after the region was plenty warmed up and the endorphins were already surging. That it might likely be the very best of the four types of Big O, nipple versus clitoral versus vaginal versus anal (all orgasms being basically clitoral-based, just internal or external). That the probability of a mind-blowing orgasm was the highest of all types, with something like a 95 percent probability. But that it took a great deal of skill and gentleness. When it came time for Robin to surrender her bottom, would there be someone there as tender and gentle and knowledgeable as Carmen to take it?

What about tribbing, the basics of girl-fucking (scissoring, cow-girling)? Sex during your period. The G-Spot, and how to find it, feel it, fuck it and not forget it. How to 69. Face-sitting and other positions. The thrill of sex in public places -- no, probably not Robin's forte, but one never knows. A little light bondage -- scarves and things. Carmen wasn't into pain, giving or receiving, not even hickies, and she doubted Robin would be either, so that one was off the table. Tats? Piercings? Good Lord, Robin probably didn't know anything about toys -- dildos, vibrators, butterflies, butt plugs, anal beads, finger vibes, strap-ons. Who would teach her that jelly-type dildos were absorbent and couldn't be sanitized by boiling or tossing them into the dishwasher, but had to be washed with soap and warm water by hand? Don't put them away wet. Putting a condom on a vibrator, especially if you didn't know its owner well? That it was a good idea to condomize your own Hitachi, too, not just someone else's -- and then Carmen realized Robin probably had no idea what a Hitachi Magic Wand was, or why it was a gal's best galpal despite its noise level.

A peeled cucumber covered with a rubber was better than an unpeeled cuke, and besides, you could trim it down to your desired diameter and length. Not to use an oil-based lube on anything latex, and never in your ass. Nothing with nonoxynol-9 in your ass, ever, either. How to improve the taste of your cum and your para-urethral squirts by abstaining from meat and caffeine for three days and drinking and eating a lot of citrus, especially pineapple juice. That celery and parsley also made your pussy juices taste sweeter. (One of Carmen's greatest trade secrets was she drank more pineapple juice in a week than the average Hawaiian did in a year.) There was a study that said the average female orgasm lasted about 26 seconds, but Carmen knew she could easily double that. Who would show Robin how to use a dental dam? (Carmen hated them, never used them, and didn't know any lesbian who ever did.) Did Robin know about squirting? Could she be a squirter herself? Had Robin read any of the new research about how douching might not be such a good thing after all? Did Robin know her vagina was basically self-cleaning? Had she remembered to tell Robin to rinse the razor after each stroke?

What about the taxonomy of twat, the many varied and sundry types and kinds of lesbians and bi-gals, and all that terminology. Ben and Jerry's had fewer flavors of ice cream than there were flavors of pussy lickers. Femmes, blue jean femmes, butches, stone butches, pillow princesses/pillow queens, lipstick lesbians, chapstick lesbians, bois, dykes and power dykes, baby dykes and diesel dykes, soft butches, hasbians, LUGs, gayelles, studs, granolas. Tops, bottoms, dommes, subs. There were lesbians who didn't like oral or didn't like anal or didn't like either one. Lesbians who liked oral but didn't like penetration, whether strap-ons, dildos, internal vibes or fingers. Lesbians who loved tribbing, and lesbians who hated it. Lesbians who didn't like sex at all ... but still identified as lesbians. There were playas like Shane had been. There were asexuals and aromantics. Then there was the intensley political minefield of bisexuality and the bi-curious. The uncomfortable fact that there were some heterosexual women who identified as straight, but who have had one or two lesbian experiences ... and might yet have one again. Can a lady be straight and still like to lick moist beaver? What was a bona fide, solid-gold, fully functioning lesbian to do with a woman who was ... what? Something other than a bona fide, solid-gold, fully functioning lesbian. Carmen called it ABB, anti-bi bias, and it ran rampant through the lez community. She admitted she had a touch of it herself.

Carmen caught herself, and laughed at her maternal over-protectiveness. Look both ways before crossing the street. Eat all your green vegetables. Carmen understood how a mother feels sending her beloved child off into the world.

Here on the edge of the desert an hour west of nowhere, Carmen had found sitting at the end of the bar and nursing an O'Doul's a late-blooming, sweet, innocent daughter of Bilitis, a tiny treasure overdue to enter not just womanhood, but a special kind of womanhood at that: A precious creature whom God had made queer, and therefore someone destined to carry extra burdens into the world, someone for whom love would be more difficult than it was for most other girls, someone who might have to suffer rejection or worse because of something in her genes, her body, her soul that she had no control over, and wasn't in the least responsible for -- or that she should be ashamed of. Someone whose most casual affections and girl-crushes were fraught with political consequence, and that might bring stares and glares in restaurants and supermarkets. Someone who would not feel welcome bringing her beloved life partner to the annual PTA potluck dinner in the elementary school all-purpose room. Someone who had to guard carefully a fundamental part of her identity, to learn how to cautiously and selectively reveal as well as conceal.

Would this lovely young gamin find in San Diego someone to cherish her, and teach her, and love her the way a Carmen Morales would have? Was there a woman out there who would cradle Robin's head against her breast as tenderly as Carmen would, and minister to her when she was sick, rub the tension from her shoulders after a bad day, warm her feet, bring her tea, light the candles and draw a bubble bath for the two of them, and read to her, or sing, or whisper. Was there a woman with a sense of play, who could tease and make her laugh, a woman who could make up silly pet names and games, and give joy, and fight to the death to protect her, and listen to her, and learn her moods, and dedicate her own life and soul and existence to her, all the long days to come? Was there a woman who would remain loyal and true and faithful, and not shatter the delicate heart Carmen had felt beating in Robin's chest?

"Come here," Carmen whispered, taking Robin by the wrists, clasping them together and bringing the wrists and therefore the girl toward her, until they stood forehead to forehead. "Listen, I want you to make me a promise."

"What?"

"I want you to promise me that when you get back home, that in the coming weeks and months you start to come out of seclusion and slowly but carefully out of the closet. I want you to get out, and start living your life. I want you to start looking for a girl, a woman, that special someone who I know with all my heart is out there waiting for someone just like you, the shy, quiet, sweet, cute, adorable recording secretary of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee, somebody who wants to spend their whole life loving you and appreciating you just the way you are, and making you happy. I want you to find a girl who is just crazy as hell about you. And I want you to love that woman back, too. I want you two to make wild, crazy love, I want you to go on vacations and trips together, and maybe one day not too far in the future maybe even marry each other, and maybe even have kids, and then grow old together. But mainly I want you to find somebody to love and be loved by, okay? And don't worry about what the damn PTA says or what other people say. Fight them and beat them and don't take any shit from them. Don't even worry too much about your family, maybe they'll come around and be understanding and supportive, although I'm not exactly a good one to give advice about family. Find people to support you. You can't live alone in the world without friends who know all the truths about you. But mainly I want you to be able to live your life openly and freely as who you are, and to be happy, and to be loved, and to find someone to love. That's the promise I want you to make."

Carmen leaned in and delicately kissed Robin on the left cheek, then the right cheek, then both eyelids, which were wet. "Promise me?"

Robin nodded her head, tears running down her face. "Okay," she whispered. "You, too. You and what's-her-name. Shane. I hope everything works out."

"Yeah, well, me too, but we'll see."

"I ... ."

"What?"

"I'm going to remember this weekend as long as I live."

Carmen kissed her again, chastely. "I am, too," she said. "You better go, before I start undressing you right here in the parking lot."

Robin blushed and laughed, but opened her car door and got in. Carmen backed away but stood and watched as Robin pulled out of the parking spot, and drove away.

Shit, Carmen thought suddenly, I forgot to tell her about chocolate syrup and food play. Peach Cobbler Night. Ice cubes, menthol candy. A drop of vanilla extract on the clit hood, on the nipples. That one side of a clit is more sensitive than the other, and how to figure out which it was. Keep your fingernails short and well-trimmed, so you don't accidentally scratch the inside of your lover's pussy or rectum. Please don't get breast implants; you're perfect the way you are.

I never kissed your earlobes. Or told you how your smile lights up a room. That you smell and taste heavenly.

When Robin's car was out of sight Carmen walked to the ballroom, made one last inspection, climbed into her loaded Jeep, and started the two-and-a-half-hour drive back to West Hollywood.

***

Robin hardly had gone a mile down the road before she started sniffling, her nose runny and tears again dripping down her cheeks. She brushed them away, and knew she'd never be able to keep her promise to Carmen about trying to find someone to love, because she already had. And the person she loved lived two-and-a-half hours away and, worse still, was in love with someone else.

***

It was coffee that got Carmen home safely, that and remorse and conscience and playing music loud with the wind in her face. It was just turning dark when she pulled into the driveway. She saw that Shane's truck was gone, and on the kitchen table she found a note saying Shane had gone to the movies with Alice. Carmen had had only had a few hours of sleep, and had worn herself out well past anything she could remember. She crawled into bed and never heard Shane come home two hours later.