The It Girl Ch. 06

In some Asian cultures, August 8 was considered a lucky day, the squaring of the lucky number 8. But for Cassie and her father, it was a black spot on the calendar, a number your eyes skipped over until you had to confront the horrifying reality of it. It was on an August 8 a decade ago that her mother -- her real mother, not Charlotte the pretender -- had kissed them on the forehead and left for work. But when she stepped out that door, it was as if she took a step into nothingness. She was never seen again.

The young Cassie hadn't really understood what happened. She had assumed that her mommy was simply away, on one of the business trips she occasionally went on, and enjoyed having her daddy all to herself. But by the time she had started school again, she had realized that something was wrong. From hushed downstairs conversations between her father and police officers, and then between her father and private investigators, she learned that even the grown-ups didn't know where Mommy was. If she had definitely died, Cassie would have probably understood it, even at that age. And abandonment would have hurt, but it would have been a stab in the front. But this strange vanishing defied the laws of reality, and plunged Cassie into a terrifying, groundless void.

Tumescent grief had grown slowly inside her, along with the realization that Mommy probably wasn't coming back. Eventually, she was pronounced legally dead, or legally divorced -- Cassie was never really sure of the details. Her father had gotten re-married to this terrible provincial woman and her demonic daughter, and moved them away from the city that he said reminded him of her. The pain of her mother's disappearance had slowly faded away, or at least been papered over with the minutia of everyday life and the exhilaration of love and sex.

But on August 8, it was harder to forget. The thing beneath the floorboards burst out and stared her in the face. Cassie and her father had never quite figured out what to do with the day. It was normal for families with dead members to visit graves on the anniversaries of their deaths, but her mother had no grave, and even if she did it would have been far away from this town. When she was younger, her father had taken her to the beach or the zoo and bought her whatever she wanted, but this had been excruciating. More recently they had gone to work or just lay around the house, letting that black thing consume them.

When Cassie woke up on this particular August 8, she was in a good mood. She had, after all, been distinctly oversexed as of late. Every day brought with it the distinct possibility of getting fucked by Devin or Rainey, or if she was willing to put up with things getting weird, Sara or Ms. Bright. And it was a sunny day, and she had just had a nice dream she couldn't quite remember. It was only when she was halfway through brushing her teeth that she remembered the date and all it meant to her.

Cassie went downstairs in a foul mood. The aftertaste of her toothpaste was like bile. Her father was at work over the stove, and there was a plate of French toast on the kitchen table. Her mood didn't lighten much.

"Hi sweetie," said Cassie's dad. "How are you feeling today?"

"Like crap," she said. "But hey, there are only—" She checked her watch. "Fifteen hours left until tomorrow. Shit, why did I wake up so early?"

"Sit down and eat," he said. "I've got a little surprise for you."

Cassie couldn't possibly think of a surprise that would make this day better. In fact, surprises were sort of part of the problem. She dug into her breakfast. The French toast was good, fluffy and sweet like always, but it tasted like ash in her mouth.

Mindy and Charlotte wandered down, presumably after finishing their evil plotting upstairs. "Sweet, a hot breakfast," said Mindy. "What's the occasion?"

Charlotte touched her daughter on the shoulder. "It's a... sensitive day for Cassie."

"She's on the rag?"

Charlotte whispered into Mindy's ear. The teenage blonde rolled her eyes. "Whatever. I've got to go to the mall today."

After breakfast, Cassie looked up at her dad, ready to collect whatever lame surprise he had planned. She hoped this wouldn't be like the year where he took her miniature golfing. Nothing like tiny windmills to assuage your grief.

"Look under your plate."

So it was going to be a scavenger hunt. Cassie dutifully lifted her plate and found a red envelope pressed under it. The sketches of mermaids across the envelope gave the sender away. "Leigha!"

"We actually got it in the mail yesterday," her father said. "But we thought it would cheer you up a bit right now."

Cassie was actually a bit miffed about having her mail withheld, but was more interested in word from Leigha than anything else. She ripped open the envelope and headed up the stairs. "Thanks!" she shouted over her shoulders. She liked to read Leigha's letters in private, mostly because she had a tendency to touch herself afterwards.

The two of them had kept in touch through text messages and IMs, of course. The letters were a weird tradition from the time when Leigha's moms had refused to buy her a phone. It felt like a fuller way of communicating, a way of devoting their attention to each other that they just couldn't get by idly texting each other at work.

Leigha wrote in an intentionally elaborate longhand. The corners of the paper were decorated with drawings of fantastic creates and elfin women. Her letters looked like something you would find at the front of a fantasy novel, and Cassie loved it. Forgetting the day and what it symbolized, she lay on her bed and began to read.

My dearest Cassandra,

I have been a bit lax in writing to you -- not for lack of material, but simply for lack of time. My parents have been busy with selling the camp, while I am preparing for university in the fall. This has caused us all to be a bit snippy with each other, but I do not like to write to you about unpleasant things.

So here are some more pleasant things: I met a lovely young woman in my quilting circle. Yes, one of my old lady interests has lead to love. Or at least lust. Her name is Josephine and she has purple (purple!) hair and wiry glasses. Oh, and cute little breasts, although she likes to hide them under her sweaters. I befriended her by discussing our shared interest in a certain series of horse-centric fantasy novels. Yes, Josephine loves all of the things you laugh at me for. But don't be too jealous -- she has execrable taste in music.

After a couple meetings she went back to our house with me and, as they say in the movies, one thing lead to another. I finally got those baggy clothes off her to reveal her skinny, dark body beneath. She was wet but embarrassed. She said that she was a virgin. I told her that she was beautiful and that I would be gentle with her. She said that she was unsure about losing her virginity to a girl she had just met a few weeks ago. I told her that she wasn't losing anything, and that everybody had a first time. I'm good with girls like that.

We made out for a while until Josephine was comfortable. She even slipped her little panties off herself. I went down on her with relish, licking her pretty little pussy until she was calling my name. She must have orgasmed three or four times. And then she flipped me onto my back, tore off my pants, and gave it her all. She was a natural! It was pretty remarkable to look at shy little Josephine, now with her violet hair messed up and a wild look in her eyes, diving into my cunt with abandon. Reader, I came.

(It was my first time with a black girl too, which feels sort of uncouth to point out. I suppose our camp's demographic was pretty narrow.)

Since then, Josephine and I have been thick as thieves. She spends half her time at my house in various states of undress. We've talked of seducing another woman from the knitting circle -- perhaps cynical twenty-something Alana?

See what you've made me do, sweet Cassandra? I just start going on and on about my love life... well, I know you enjoy it.

It's not all sapphic love here. I've been steadily working at the novel, but I'm afraid one of my most beloved characters is going to have to be cut. Her story arc simply isn't working. And poor Macavity recently took ill, but the vet gave us some pills, and she looks to be on the road to a full recovery.

I hope you are surviving, and enjoying the little enchantment I put on you when we last met. You're drowning in fresh new girlfriends, aren't you? Girls who always though they were straight? You will have to write me with all the details. There's nothing quite so lovely as kissing and telling.

Yours truly, Leah.

Sometimes Cassie thought that these letters were just practice for Leah's future career as world-famous erotica author. She was certainly better than the only current world-famous erotica author, purple prose and all. Her description of her encounter with Josephine was positively restrained compared to some of her previous letters.

Still, it sent a shiver through Cassie. Maybe Leah could introduce her to this new friend when they next met, whenever it was. And then they could all have fun together. Cassie's hand, already in her pants, idly strummed her clit.

The last paragraph caught her attention. Surely Leah couldn't believe that her weird little spellbook that she had found in the back of a women's bookstore had actually worked? There was no way to magic yourself into getting laid. Although, come to think of it, she had been having sex with a lot of women lately, and women she wouldn't have normally thought about in that way. Like her previously-platonic friend Rainey, or her teacher Claudia. And then there was the way Dawn and Sara had pressed themselves onto her, seemingly desperate beyond rational desire.

Wait, could this magic thing actually be real?

No, that couldn't be it. She was sure it was just a coincidence. Or maybe it was the new way she was doing her hair. Or it could be the super-charged pheromones of youth. The point was, Cassie didn't believe in magic, and she certainly didn't believe in weird pagan sex magic. People couldn't make other people fall in love with them. Just like people couldn't fly.

Just like people couldn't disappear into thin air.

And then, somehow, she was back down in the pit again, thinking about her mother. What would Mom have thought about her now, flitting from girl to girl? She hadn't been a homophobe, at least not from what Cassie could remember, but she remembered disapproving gossip on the phone about a friend's promiscuity. Would her mother have come to hate her? Then again, maybe she had already hated Cassie, and that was why she had left.

She couldn't think that way. Cassie had decided long ago to treat her mother's vanishing as a tragedy and not a desertion. In the absence of evidence pointing in either direction, it seemed like the only way to stay sane. But no matter how hard she tried to keep out treacherous thoughts, they kept seeping in. Maybe if she had been a better kid or just showed her mom more love, she would still be here.

On a rational level, Cassie knew how dumb these thoughts were. Even if she had done something wrong, she had been a little kid. There was nothing a kid could do to justify the loss of their mother. But knowing it didn't stop her from feeling that poisonous guilt, a guilt she thought she had buried but which resurfaced once a year on this anti-holiday.

And now she was crying. Cassie put the letter away, not wanting to stain Leigha's penmanship and drawings. The worst part was that the lower part of her body was still aroused. She felt like a bloated, dysfunctional piece of meat. God, why couldn't she treat this like any other day?

The door creaked open, and then shut. Cassie looked up and saw Charlotte, staring at her with a look of concern. Cassie hated that look. She tried to quickly wipe away her tears. "What do you want?"

"I just wanted to see if you were okay, sweetie."

"I'm fine. I just..." There was no pretense she could muster. "I'm fine."

Charlotte sat down on the edge of the bed and ran a hand through Cassie's hair. "You don't look fine. Is Leigha doing all right?"

"What? No, she's fine." That was so typical of her, completely misunderstanding Cassie's emotions. "It's just... I mean, you know my Mom disappeared on this day, right?"

"Of course I do, honey." Charlotte tried to give Cassie a hug, but Cassie was laying front-first on the bed and not in the mood to co-operate, so Charlotte ended up just awkwardly laying on top of her.

"It's stupid," said Cassie. "I mean, it was so long ago. You don't have to spend time with me or anything; I'm sure you've got plenty to do."

"It's okay to feel sad," said Charlotte. "You don't have to justify it to anyone. Even yourself."

When she said it like that, it all seemed so reasonable. Cassie turned over to face Charlotte, and all of a sudden they were right in each other's faces, chest to chest. Their lips grazed, but Charlotte sat up and cleared her throat.

"You know, my mother died too."

Cassie did not, in fact, know this. There had been no mentions of visits to a step-grandmother, true, but the question had never occurred to her. Maybe there was a part of her that still found it difficult to believe Charlotte issued from a human womb and not the depths of hell. But now she was curious.

"When did it happen?"

"Seven years ago -- not long before I met your father, in fact. She had kidney cancer. It was tough, but towards the end she was very serene. She kept joking that she would have spent the next twenty years waiting for death anyway. I tried to laugh every time."

Cassie balled her hands into fists. "That's not the same thing. You got to spend what, thirty years with your mom? I got eight, and I don't even remember most of them. And at least you know she's dead. You don't have to keep half-wondering if she's going to show up on your doorstep one day with a smile and an apology."

Charlotte petted her back. "I know it's not the same, sweetie. But there's no way to lose your mother -- lose anyone you care about, really -- that doesn't hurt. There's always that hole in your life."

Cassie supposed that was true. She remembered her decision to be closer to her stepmother, or at least be less openly hostile. It seemed like a trivial concern in light of the grief for her real mother, but this was one of those times when Charlotte was acting out of kindness, and Cassie didn't want to respond with cruelty as she so often did.

She rolled onto her back, so as to address Charlotte face to face. This indeed brought her closer to her stepmother -- almost chest to chest. Charlotte was on her hands and knees over her, still there from the botched hug, her plump red lips and pendulous breasts very close. Cassie caught her breath. This was a good deal more intimate than she had been intending.

Charlotte didn't move away, though. She hung over Cassie, propped up on her arms, staring into her eyes. Absently, Cassie noted that Charlotte's eyes were a wonderfully pale shade of green, like leaves in early spring. She remembered the first time she had made out with Leigha, how the other girl had hung over her like this in a mixture of hesitation and anticipation. Now that she thought about it, Charlotte and Leigha had similar bodies, short and curvy. Why was she thinking like that?

"I'm... you should try to feel better," said Charlotte. "I mean, not that feeling sad is wrong or anything, but... do something fun today." She was obviously uncomfortable with the position she had found herself in, but again made no move to stop straddling her stepdaughter. If anything, she seemed to be pressing her body tighter against Cassie. Now their pelvises were touching with delicious friction.

The body was a funny thing. Cassie's in particular had been filled with the hot, dry rage of grief, but being so close to a woman -- a sexy woman, as she was just now realizing for the first time -- was beginning to flood her with a sexual hunger. That hot, angry feeling was still there, but was now feeling less like grief and more like need. A body -- any body, even her hated stepmother's -- would do.

Against all reason, Cassie wove her fingers into Charlotte's hair and pulled her lips down to hers. The stress and uncertainty faded from Charlotte's face as they kissed. She flicked her tongue out and slid it into Cassie's mouth. She took a long, slow, sleazy lick of the roof of Cassie's mouth and soon their tongues were sliding against each other in slippery bliss. It was the kiss that their earlier one had only hinted at.

Charlotte pulled away for a second. Her hot breath snaked around Cassie's chin. "Wait a minute. What are we—"

Cassie pulled her down into another lip-lock. This made no sense. This was wrong. She wanted this. She needed this.

Charlotte didn't ask any more questions. She ran her hands down her stepdaughter's body quickly, as if trying to get to everything before sensibility made an unwelcome return. Cassie did the same, wrapping her hands around Charlotte's ass. God, she had never appreciated that ass enough. Just so soft, and round, and fleshy. She dug her hands in, and fondled it with abandon.

And then she slipped her hands lower. She wanted to see just how far Charlotte was willing to go, before she let herself completely give in to this uncomprehending hunger inside her. Cassie pressed her palm against her stepmother's skirt, bluntly rubbing her crotch. Charlotte didn't hesitate. In fact, she rubbed up against her and made a throaty purring noise.

All of a sudden, Cassie could see her stepmother as not a dowdy middle-aged killjoy, but as the sensual and seductive beauty queen she had once been. There was something almost animalistic in the way she rhythmically rubbed up against Cassie's body. And when she sat up to take her shirt off, she looked every bit the sex symbol in a 80s music video. Cassie was lost.

She pressed her lips to her stepmother's collarbone, kissing the soft flesh. The years had made Charlotte shapely and plump, but that had just drawn out her beauty, exaggerating her curves. With a flash of her eyes up to Charlotte's expression, Cassie stuck out her tongue and licked slowly down to the hem of the older woman's cleavage. Charlotte reached down and pulled Cassie's shirt over her head.

Cassie took it slow, nuzzling up against those big soft breasts and the underside of her stepmother's chin. Charlotte let out a soft gasp, evidently trying not to draw attention. The house seemed eerily quiet, tense with potential. Apparently less patient than the teenager, Charlotte unhooked her bra and guided Cassie's head down to her breasts. Cassie carefully took one dark red nipple into her mouth and licked it. She wondered if her father had done the same, or if infant Mindy had latched onto her mother's breasts in that way. Such thoughts made her feel strange, but strange in he way she had when she had first glimpsed images of naked women on the Internet so long ago.

Charlotte groaned and grabbed Cassie by the hair. She wasn't going to let her stepdaughter get away, which was fine, because Cassie had no intention of escaping. She released Charlotte's heavy left breast with a wet smack and moved to her right. She lavished wet and warm affection on the plump mammary, receiving strangled moans that drove her on further in her semi-incestuous fervour. There was still time to stop if she wanted to. But she didn't want to.

She felt Charlotte wrapping her longer, thicker body around her. She hunched over to kiss Cassie's shoulders, reached her hands around to stroke the young woman's bare back. Her touch left goosebumps in its wake. Cassie wantonly ground her pussy against her stepmother's crotch. The sweet friction it produced was the best thing she had felt all day. And, unless she was mistaken, Charlotte was grinding back against her. It was a simple rhythm that required no experience or instruction, but something they both knew in their bones would bring them ever-increasing pleasure.