Slips Of The Tongue Ch. 02

"You bitch, you did not!" cried Gwen.

"Of course I didn't, but that's what you were thinking. Hmm?" Domenique retorted, meeting Gwen's stare.

"Hmm, what?" Gwen repeated, looking back down at her game.

"Hmm, you don't trust me."

"I trust you." Said Gwen.

I just don't want you to be seduced like you seduced me, were the words she thought. The next few moments passed in silence. Outside, crickets sang their wing song, singing their shared whistling doublet pattern; amassed in oblivious unity. Gwen became sullen. Her Ninjump guy succumbed twice more; dieing by way of Gwen gesticulating him to suicide. Fuck the roses then, she thought, fuck their mysterious appearance at Domenique's door step that night, and fuck the someone ringing that door bell again and again as our bodies still resonated with the afterglow of the dirtiest, most satisfying sex we'd had in a very long time. I'm an idiot. Then say you're sorry. No. I don't feel like it yet.

Gwen and Domenique's desire for each other had been instant, but over the last three months, the relationship had evolved into something more solid and interdependent. They'd filled any remaining cracks between the stones of their psychological intimacies with the gritty sand and the gentle rain of their endless conversation, mutual preening and the reciprocal divinity of sexual satisfaction. The final result, as far as Gwen believed, could only be love; that jagged cliff's edge, staring down from its precipitous drop off into the clear blue depth at its base. I wonder; does Nique love me? Do I love her? Can I say it? Should I tell her? And yet; it was Gwen herself that chose to speak the first words of disunity : "the waitress.

Initially, for the first week after the mysterious delivery, Domenique had entertained some discussion as to who their admirer might be, and had gone so far as to keep the three long stem white roses long after the third had finally unfurled, and ultimately hung all three to dry for the sake of keeping as a memento.

"Who knows." She'd said, hanging the roses upside down, their ends bound with pastry box string, dangling from a push pin in the darkest corner of her kitchen, "It might be a blessing."

"Blessing?" Gwen questioned, leaning against the refrigerator, her arms folded tightly across her chest, her mouth turned down in a frown.

"Anyway," said Domenique, deciding to break the silence, "What are you going to do if it's her?"

Gwen met her gaze, locked her iPad's screen, closed its case, and then set it beside her. Glowering, she searched Domenique's seemingly knowing expression. What makes her so damn smart anyway, she thought. Fine. I can be smart too.

"I, my dear, am going to ravage her like the dirty ass tonguing slut you've turned me into." Answered Gwen, "You know why?"

"No." smiled Domenique as she moved Gwen's right foot to the left and right for better vantage, "Why?"

"Because she's you, that's why."

Domenique stopped and looked back up.

"No she's not."

"Yes she is."

"I can assure you that she's not me."

"Don't worry Gwen, we'll find her."

"Oh my fucking God Domenique; I don't need to find her!" growled Gwen, pulling her feet away and then wrapping her arms around her smoothly shaven legs.

"But you; want to find her." Domenique persisted, shrugging and beginning to gather up Gwen's tools.

"No, I don't want to find her! I don't want either of us to find her because I don't... I don't want her to take you away from me."

Gwen, tears beginning to trail the length of her cheeks, stared boldly back at Domenique.

"Gwen honey, I wouldn't let her do that."

"Really."

"Really, Honestly, truly; because I want to find her for you."

"No!" Gwen hissed, wiping her face.

"Yes; for you, so that you can know how much I will risk for you, so that we can test the integrity and longevity of the great institution of the pair bond."

"Well now you're just being a jerk."

"Gwen? What is love?" asked Domenique as she went about returning Gwen's pedicure tools to their case.

"I don't know Domenique;" said Gwen sniffling, feeling stupid for crying, "A song by Haddaway, Howard Jones, (En Vogue, Jennifer Lopez, Deee-Lite, uh, Rookie Of The Year?"

"Now you're being a jerk."

"Whatever."

Domenique zipped the case shut, and then looked at Gwen. Still weeping, Gwen averted her gaze, and then started to rise from the chair. In the next instant, Gwen found herself pinned where she was, Domenique straddling her lap, her tight grip holding both her wrists fast. Powerless, angry at her own stupidity and weakness, Gwen stared brazenly into Domenique's eyes. She too had begun to cry. Roses are bled; Violence a clue. Sugar defeat and my Nique is blue. Moments passed as crickets beat their sweet monotonous song. Still, they stared into each other's sorrowful eyes. Finally, Domenique loosened her vice grip around Gwen's wrists.

"Love is selfless generosity." uttered Domenique, her voice shaking slightly, "Love is free. "

"So?" asked Gwen, ashamed and confused.

"So; I will give her to you and you will give her to me."

"And she'll give us back to ourselves when she's finished?"

"That's the thing you're not getting Gwen honey. She, he; I don't know, it might even be some stalker for you know! Whoever it is..."

Domenique looked away, peering between the thin black slits of the window's blinds. The cool wind outside kicked up, pushing the blinds toward them. Gwen watched her, waiting while Domenique smoothed her tears into flat patches of moisture on her cheeks.

"Whoever it is," she continued, reaffixing her gaze on Gwen's, "Honestly, I don't believe it's a guy stalker, but I can't be sure of anything these days; so many psychos around just for the sake of being psychotic. But, let's say it's another woman; that waitress, she could be only like contact potential."

"Like what?" asked Gwen, brow furrowed, eyes dry, her face glistening under the lamp light.

"Contact potential," Domenique repeated before slowly closing into Gwen's lips, kissing them, and then circling random kisses to taste her lover's tears.

"You and I," whispered Domenique between kisses, "Are the lightening, the clouds and the ground. A third, a rose by another name, can get struck by virtue of her contact potential or she can just get missed by the bolt. But, you and I, we'll always have our electricity. We will have the clouds and ground of us to go back to, to dissipate and reintegrate our ions. Understand?"

"Jesus Christ no." laughed Gwen, beginning to return Domenique's gentle kisses, "I'm kidding. I understand. At least I think so. She... She can only engage in us, with us, from the outside of..."

"Of what?" asked Domenique, leaning back and searching Gwen's eyes.

"Outside of our love." Said Gwen, her tears resumed, "I love you Nique."

"I love you too Gwen."

"I'm sorry."

"I know baby. I know."

Their kissing continued as the night wore on; their lips warm, their cheeks wet, tacky and cool. Eventually, Domenique led Gwen back to her bed. In the darkness, they were one; two bodies with no space between; writhing like impassioned smooth scaled serpents, coiled in seething wet embrace. For hours, their tongues lapped lingeringly along and inside each other's sexes; wetting the sheets and perfuming the room with their intermingled pussy musk. Through those hours, Gwen and Domenique repeated their conviction to each other; kissing, whispering and panting the words over and over again, speaking them mouth to mouth, tongue to tongue, in tingling ears and against their love gleaming clits. Ultimately, sleep took them; their bodies spooned, Gwen wrapped inside Domenique, their breathing just short of synchronous.

It was Domenique who woke first; the sound of September doves cooing to each other, rousing her back to consciousness. Instantly alert, she raised her head and looked toward the bedroom's windows and saw the thin strips of gray blue dawn coming in. With her right hand, Domenique caressed the smooth swell of Gwen's hip, and then reached down to play with her pussy's hair. With a kiss, Gwen sighed awake. Whirling around, she pulled Domenique's face to hers and drank her in deeply, as if sleep and dream had kept them apart for days and days. Domenique indulged her while reaching dirty fingers into Gwen's lusciously dirty ass and squeezing her right cheek tight. But, they would not start the new day with another session of sex nor would they sleep in. They, simultaneously drained by and energized from their love, were simply starved. Gwen offered to make breakfast, but Domenique declined. Beyond that, there was only one option. The sun had just peeked over the horizon by the time Gwen and Domenique had risen from the bed, speedily freshened up, brushed, dressed hurriedly in whatever they'd found on the floor and left the apartment to see what the diner might have to offer that morning.