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From: Crimson Dragon <dcrimson@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASS/M} New: Until It Hurts (FF, cons, outdoors)
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This is an erotic story. It may contain descriptions of consensual
sexual activity outside of a standard bedroom setting between members
of the female sex. If this is going to offend you, I'd advise strongly
against reading any further.

If you are a minor, cease and desist as well. This story wasn't meant
for you. You probably won't like it anyway.

Characters and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people
and places are a strange coincidence.

I must thank Munk for looking over the story and pointing out its
numerous flaws. Any wrongdoing is entirely my fault, not hers.

This story was proofed by Mike Ink, who deserves credit for excellent
suggestions and polishing but doesn't deserve blame for anything
written herein. If it's wrong, it was probably pointed out and I
ignored the advice.

The story may be archived as long as there is no charge for access to
it, it remains unchanged and I am given credit for the work.

While on the subject of archiving, for those of you who are
interested, I have recently set up a free archive site with my stories:

http://www.asstr.ml.org/~Crimson_Dragon

Most of my writings should be there.

Comments are always welcome at dcrimson@yahoo.com,

- Crimson


Until It Hurts [ FF, cons, outdoors ]

(C) July 1998

By Crimson Dragon (dcrimson@yahoo.com)


Her eyes fluttered open with a groan as the first rays of dawn broke
over the horizon and warmed her face through her bedroom window. She
blinked her eyes slowly, waiting for the scratchiness of sleep to fade
from beneath her lids. Her head pounded and her stomach was playing a
poor accordion somewhere deep inside of her. Her throat felt like it
had been sanded with coarse grade sandpaper. Her mouth tasted like the
cat had used it as a litter box.

She groaned again and tried to turn over to her side, her fingers
pressing lightly into her abdomen, trying to ease the nausea. A gentle
weight lay against her ribs, just below her breasts, preventing her
journey to her side. She opened her eyes again and raised her pounding
head. She gently lifted the sheet, wondering what could be lying on
her. The cat was heavier, and though there was the usual purr of
breathing, it wasn't quite the raspy purr of Lucifer. A small hand
with long slender fingers lay across her, the fingers gently cupping
her bare right breast. It took her foggy brain a moment to notice the
pink nail polish on the tip of each finger, rising and falling with
each of her shallow breaths. She closed her eyes, dropped the sheet,
and turned her head, lowering it gently to her pillow.

As she reopened her eyes, a soft face, diffused in sleep and lying on
the pillow beside her filled her view. She nearly screamed in
surprise, though she probably should have figured out that the hand
cupping her breast belonged to someone. She stifled the cry and stared
up at the ceiling. Her pounding brain struggled in vain to remember.
She consciously slowed her heart and gently reached under the sheets,
moving the limp hand from her chest, hoping not to wake the woman
beside her. God, where had this headache come from? And who the hell
was the brunette sharing her bed?

The woman stirred at the movement of her arm, but didn't wake. The
sunlight had crept to her face, illuminating it like a spotlight on an
angel. She wrinkled her nose at the light disturbing her dreams and
turned over, presenting her bare back and long brunette hair to her
bedmate.

Melissa groaned again, but more quietly, as a wave of nausea washed
over her. She closed her eyes until it passed, and then gently swung
her legs out of the bed. Her bare feet connected with the hardwood and
she shivered, realizing that she was completely nude. She never slept
without her nightgown, or for that matter with another woman. She
glanced around the bedroom. At least it was her own room and not some
sleazy motel. Her mind refused to give up the details of last evening,
but she vaguely recalled far too many shooters - B-52's, 747's, and
some dandy named Sex On The Beach. Her head throbbed again, and
Melissa gently lowered her head into her hands, her elbows supported
by her knees. The nausea washed over her again - sitting up hadn't
helped her at all. This time, the waves of nausea overwhelmed her and
she stumbled out of the room and down the hall to the bathroom, making
it just in time.

***

She felt better after being sick, though her head still pounded to the
beat of some raucous military marching band. Her mouth tasted far
worse than it had when she had awakened, and brushing her teeth had
only marginally helped. She stared at her disheveled face in the
mirror. Her blue eyes stared back at her, almost as if accusing her of
something. Her blonde locks were tangled about her head, framing her
face in dirty golden strands. It looked like she had run a marathon,
she thought with a critical eye. She flipped two aspirin into her
mouth and dry swallowed them, gagging at the taste.

She ran her fingers through her long, tangled blonde mane and pulled
it back into a pony tail away from her face. She washed her face
quickly and padded back to the bedroom.

The girl was still fast asleep, her breathing soft and regular beneath
the sheets. Melissa glanced about the bedroom. Clothing, hers and
others that she didn't recognise, were strewn haphazardly around the
room. A strange brassiere dangled from the bedpost, her nightgown,
untouched, was still folded neatly over the desk chair. A white ankle
sock lay over a pair of blue jeans crumpled at the foot of the bed.
Neither were hers.

Melissa took a deep breath and debated waking the woman, finding out
exactly what had taken place. The throbbing between her legs and the
tingling of her body told her exactly what she had done. Though she
had never shared her bed with a woman, she certainly knew the signals,
at least she thought she did. She self-consciously touched herself
between her legs, trying to confirm her activities from the night
before. She wasn't absolutely positive, but she certainly ached in all
the right places. It was hard to be positive with the after-effects of
the drinks. She might ache for a completely different reason than the
obvious. At least it was possible.

Melissa padded over to the desk and picked up a pen along with her
perfumed writing pad. Dear stranger sleeping in my bed, ... she smiled
ruefully at the thought. She lowered the pen back to the desk. She
didn't even know to whom to address a note, or whether she should even
leave the house. But she had to leave. She had to sort this out before
talking to the girl in her bed. Her aching head was in a whirl of
confusion and she wasn't thinking straight.

Barefoot, she padded over to her dresser and silently pulled out her
Spandex shorts and halter-top. She quickly donned the clothing and
padded back out to the living room. The clock there told her it was
5:28 AM, far too early to be up. The roosters wouldn't even be awake
yet. She sighed, knowing it would be useless to try and get back into
bed and sleep, especially with the girl there. Her head still pounded
like some over-eager conga drum player was alive and well in there.

***

She stepped through the sliding glass doors and onto the deck, wincing
at the early morning light. She gazed out over the water, the morning
sun still large and orange on the horizon. It glinted off the still
ocean as though the water was a sheet of glass. A small fish jumped,
breaking the mirrored blue surface, sending tiny ripples to the ends
of the earth.

Melissa took a deep breath, breathing in the salty air. With the
inrush of fresh air, her head was beginning to fade back into a
semblance of normalcy and her nausea had completely disappeared. Her
throat still felt scratchy, but she no longer wanted to kill the cat
for using it as a litter box.

The beach was silent as she descended down to the sand, using the
short flight of rough stairs. Not even the ever-present seagulls were
awake yet. Her bare feet felt the coolness of the sand, residual from
the cool of the night before, reassuring and close. Without thinking,
she began to run, her feet whispering through the sand, her thighs and
calves straining against the yielding surface.

Soon she was flying down the beach, her toes indenting the wet sand by
the water's edge. Her breathing slowly increased as her heart pounded
against her ribs. The effects of the drinks last night diminished as
though they had never been there. She ran until it hurt. Her side
throbbed with a stitch, and her body ached, but still she ran, her
hair flying out behind her in the wind that she had created.

As she reached the end of the deserted beach, she finally allowed
herself to collapse. The pain flooded through her body as she
struggled to find her breath. Her legs and lungs were screaming bloody
murder at her as she fell to her knees in the sand.

Tears streamed down her face as she leaned forward, burying her
forehead in the sand. She wept there for some time, only partly from
the pain. She had no idea how long she knelt there, but when the tears
finally stopped, her breathing slowed and she rolled onto her back
staring up at the bright blue sky above her, the sun inexorably
climbing above the horizon.

***

She'd always been prone to over-reaction. It was probably why Steve
had left her, she thought bitterly. And probably why a stranger was
sleeping in her bed this morning.

She felt the tears surface again as she lay in the soft sand and
visions of Steve flitted across her mind. She savagely wiped at her
face with her fingers, blinking at the wetness. How often had they
made the run out here together in better times? They'd laughed, and
enjoyed each other's company. Steve was the one who had encouraged her
to run until it hurt. She hadn't quite known what he meant until
yesterday. She'd run until it hurt, and then kept running, hard and
fast. Up until yesterday, when they'd lain here panting together and
she had found out that hurt was a relative thing. Dammit ... she'd
been vulnerable, and secure, and feeling good for the first time in
years and it was right here - she prodded the sand with her finger -
right here when he had told her about his secretary. Twenty-four short
hours ago. And now she was alone.

Tears came again, unbidden. She had over-reacted like she always did -
hitting him, and cursing. Just like her. The side of herself that
she'd managed to bury for Steve for all these long months with him.
His face had been a mask of sorrow and pain. He hadn't wanted to hurt
her, hadn't kept it from her. He'd been honest with her, which was a
hell of a lot better than most guys she'd dated. It still hurt. How
the hell could he want another woman? What was wrong with her?

She pounded her fist into the sand beside her aching thigh as the
relentless pictures of herself continued beneath her closed eyelids.

She had fallen to her knees after he had avoided every futile swing of
her small fists, exhausting her already sore body. Pathetic. She had
cried, pushing him away when he tried to comfort her. She hadn't
wanted to cry, she simply had, not being able to help herself. The
tears had felt like rivers of fire, leaking from her eyes and tracing
down her cheeks to drip from her chin.

When she had finally raised her head and cleared her tears, he was
gone - only a small figure walking away from her in the distance, not
looking back. She had watched miserably as he disappeared down the
beach and out of her life forever. She didn't even know the
secretary's name. She didn't care. She had stared out at the circling
gulls for hours until she had dragged herself to her feet wearily and
walked through the shallow water back to her beach house. He had been
gone. Not even a note. Only the scent of his aftershave still wafting
across the calm air in the house to remind her of him.

***

The current tears eventually dried up. She chastised herself as she
sat up, brushing grains of sand from her arm and side. She carefully
wiped the tears from her cheeks and stood wearily to her bare feet.
The salty air tasted almost like her tears but in a lighter way.

It was over; she didn't even know where Steve was, or what he was
doing. But he wasn't coming back. Ever. She glanced down at her
finger. She ought to sell the thing, or find him and return it.

She wasn't in a charitable mood. Her head had begun to ache again as
soon as she stopped moving. She carefully worked the clear hard stone
from her left ring finger and weighed it in her hand. She stepped down
the beach until the water lapped over her toes.

Some oyster is going to love this, she thought to herself as she
watched the easy arc of the diamond before it splashed into the still
water and sank forever.

She felt a weight lift from her shoulders as the small stone
disappeared. A slight ache rippled through her heart, the loss of ten
months of her life, but she eventually turned away and splashed gently
through the warm ocean water as she slowly returned to her home.

***

She sat on the bottom step leading up to the sundeck. Her bare toes
formed small circles in the sand. She intently watched the shallow
tracks in the sand rise and fall under the gentle guidance of her
feet. Her knees were pressed together and her hands rested easily on
them. She struggled to control her breathing; she had run the last
half of the journey back, running through the pain of already
over-exerted muscles.

"What have you gotten yourself into this time?" she asked herself in a
soft whisper.

She remembered calling Jean after she'd realised that Steve was never
coming back, and more importantly, realised that she didn't want him
to come back. Jean had collected her and they'd gone out. "To forget,"
she had said. 'Forget' apparently being the operative word. After the
first noisy, smoky club it was a complete blur of people, dancing,
crying, laughter and alcohol. She vaguely recalled refusing some
marijuana at some point. Thank God. Her head would be splitting if
she'd indulged in that vice.

Her heart rate fell to a somewhat normal level, and she sighed. She
had no idea what time it was, but the sun had lifted a respectable
distance above the horizon.

She rose with an effort to her feet and climbed slowly up the stairs,
her fingers dragging on the handrail. The wood of the steps felt
suddenly rougher beneath her feet.

She took a deep breath as she slid open the deck doors. She had no
idea if her guest was awake, or if she was even still there. Anything
was possible. There was no sound, no sign that her bedmate remained in
the beachhouse.

Lucifer appeared slowly and gracefully, from the direction of the
kitchen. She gave her owner one of those baleful, half-accusatory
looks that felines are so good at. Her liquid eyes seemed to ask
exactly why she hadn't been allowed to sleep in with her owner as she
normally did. Oh. And by the way, where's my breakfast?

Melissa quickly opened some of Lucifer's favourite food, placing the
plate on the floor. She normally fed Lucifer before her morning run,
but this morning had been ... different. Melissa knew she'd regret
ignoring the creature this morning. Lucifer had a way of making her
displeasure known, hence her name. Lucifer, head held high, pranced
over, gave Melissa an about-time-too expression and settled herself to
eat.

Leaving Lucifer to her breakfast, Melissa padded quietly to the
bedroom and peeked in. The woman was still fast asleep, curled up and
breathing regularly. As the door opened the brunette head stirred,
moaned quietly but didn't quite wake.

Melissa softly shut the door and again chastised herself. She should
wake the woman up and get her out of here before ...

Before what? Steve comes home? Melissa sighed to herself as she fought
back the threatening tears.

She padded to the bathroom and slipped out of her jogging clothes,
letting them fall haphazardly to the bathroom tile. She flipped on the
hot water and stepped into the shower, standing under the sharp spray
and letting the clear steamy water soak away her aches and pains.

***

As she emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her head and
another around her body, she smelled coffee. She hadn't smelled coffee
in this house in months. Steve hadn't liked coffee and she was
indifferent so she had accepted his request not to smell it every
morning.

She inhaled, smelling a curious mixture of coffee, bacon, steam and
peach scented soap. She felt clean, and far better than she had when
she'd awakened at 5:28 AM.

Swallowing heavily, she padded out to the kitchen, leaning up against
the arch leading into the bright room. The sizzling of the bacon
masked any small sounds that her bare feet made, so the woman sitting
quietly at the kitchen table didn't notice her enter.

The woman was a brunette, but Melissa knew that already. Petite,
young, in her early twenties, she looked to have brown eyes and a trim
figure. She was engulfed in a white nightgown that looked like it may
have come from Melissa's closet. Melissa was simply thankful that the
girl had put on clothing at all. She was sitting, facing the entrance,
her brown eyes scanning the morning newspaper intently. Her legs were
crossed under the glass table, her right foot bare and swinging gently
as she read. As she moved to pick up her cup of coffee, her eyes
lifted and spied Melissa. A friendly smile illuminated her features.

"Good morning," the girl spoke. Her voice was contralto, almost a soft
musical quality to it.

Melissa took a deep breath and moved into the room without answering
the girl. The girl's eyes followed her every movement, cautious and
uncertain. Melissa sat down across from the girl and folded her hands
gently over the glass of the table. She wished that she had dressed
before coming out here, but she had been dreadfully curious. Suddenly
she felt self-conscious of wearing only a towel in her own home.

"Can I get you some coffee?" the girl tried again, a bit of
nervousness, and perhaps bewilderment, entering her voice and face.

Melissa sighed to herself. She might not quite know what was going on,
but she could at least be civil.

"No, thank-you," Melissa replied quietly. Then she realised that she
had answered out of habit, she had been refusing coffee for the last
ten months because of Steve. Not because of her own desires. The girl
had lowered her eyes at the answer. Awkward.

"I can go if you want," the girl spoke quietly towards the table. She
looked suddenly fascinated by her bare feet under the glass, and
Melissa was almost sure that she detected a brightness to the girl's
eyes which could only be the beginnings of tears.

"On second thought, maybe I will have one with you," Melissa spoke a
little more gently. She moved to get up, but the girl was faster.

Melissa watched in silence as the girl poured her a cup of coffee from
the carafe. The girl looked up at Melissa questioningly.

"Cream ... no sugar," Melissa answered the unasked question.

She watched the girl move around the kitchen, finding the cream in the
refrigerator and stirring the mug. She placed the mug down beside
Melissa and then moved off to tend the bacon. The girl pulled the
bacon out of the pan with a knife and fork and dried it carefully on a
paper towel. She turned off the burner and returned to her seat, her
eyes fixed on Melissa.

Melissa savoured the rich coffee. It had been so long since she'd
enjoyed this simple pleasure. She glanced over the rim of the cup. The
girl was still watching her with her intense deep brown eyes.

"This is a bit awkward," the brunette spoke quietly. "I should go."
She began to rise from her seat.

Melissa lowered her cup to the table. The sound of it touching the
table sounded like a gunshot.

Melissa touched the girl's arm across the table, stopping her movement.

Melissa took a deep breath. "I suppose if I've slept with you, I
should at least know who you are," she whispered. A red flush had
crept into her cheeks unbidden. She couldn't believe that she'd slept
with someone the day she had broken up with Steve. Much less that it
had been a woman. She wasn't a prude, but she'd never been attracted
to women before and still wasn't. At least she didn't think so.

The girl looked stunned and lowered herself back to the chair.

"You don't remember?" the girl asked quietly.

Melissa nibbled her lower lip, willing the tears back again, and
gently shook her head.

The girl pursed her lips, and rocked slowly back and forth in her seat.

"Maybe then it is better if I just leave," she said softly.

Melissa swallowed heavily. "I need to know what happened. Who you are.
Please stay. At least have breakfast. You made it after all. I'm not
hurrying you out." She fought with herself, half wanting the girl to
go and forget her, half wanting to know everything.

The girl seemed indecisive. She bit her lower lip, running her teeth
along the skin there. She finally took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry that you don't remember. You ... you had a few drinks last
night."

"I know. My head knows it anyway," Melissa attempted a rueful smile.

The girl stuck her hand across the table, outstretched. "I'm Reane,"
she spoke softly. "We've been introduced before. I'm a friend of
Jean's, in case you don't remember."

Melissa hesitated for a moment and grasped the offered hand. It was
warm, strong and soft. "Melissa," she murmured. "I'm afraid that I
really don't remember. I'm sorry."

Reane smiled gently, the worry that Melissa wasn't going to shake her
hand disappearing from her features. "I know you don't. And it's
alright. I was expecting this to be a little awkward this morning. I'm
actually surprised that you didn't wake me up."

"What the hell hit me last night?" Melissa asked with a quiver in her
voice.

Reane smiled widely as she rose to her bare feet and began to heat the
stove again. Melissa watched the girl as she began to prepare the eggs
she had found in the fridge.

"Well, you already had had a few when I caught up with you," Reane
tossed over her shoulder. "But from what I remember you got hit by
three B-52's, three 747's, three beers, um Molson Canadian, I think,
three whiskey neat, and um, three Sex On The Beach. You liked the
number three for some reason which you wouldn't divulge. And you liked
the Sex On The Beach, too. Again, you wouldn't say why."

Melissa gasped. No wonder her head was aching this morning. She rarely
drank at all, much less mixed. She was surprised she hadn't passed
out. Maybe she had, for all she knew.

"I made a fool of myself." It was a statement, not a question.

Reane turned herself back to the stove, ignoring the statement.

"How do you like your eggs?"

"Scrambled," Melissa spoke softly, suddenly ashamed of herself as
Reane began to break eggs into a bowl.

Melissa's mind whirled. Never again, Melissa swore to herself. Never
again. Should have at least waited before getting drunk and sleeping
with a woman. Christ. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Reane placed a plate of scrambled eggs and a glass of orange juice in
front of Melissa. Steve had never once made her breakfast, much less
served it to her. Melissa watched and waited for Reane to bring her
own breakfast back and settle back into her seat.

They ate in silence, the clacks of the forks filling the void. The
breakfast was excellent, and Melissa was stunned to discover that she
was ravenous. She finished the food far before Reane who ate slowly
and daintily. Melissa watched the girl finish her breakfast and then
sat back.

Reane spoke softly. "I ... I'm not exactly sure what you think went on
last night ..."

"It's pretty clear, though, I'm sorry but I don't really remember it
all. Kind of a blur," Melissa finished the girl's train of thought.

Reane smiled softly. "I thought it might be a blur for you. I tend to
forget when I drink as well."

"What happened? No offence, but why are you here?" Melissa asked
quietly, inwardly cringing as Reane's easy smile fell a notch.

Reane took a small breath and let it out. "You really don't remember
... this is kind of embarrassing."

"I figured as much," Melissa commented with a slight flush crawling up
her cheeks.

"I wouldn't normally do this," Reane started. "I mean come home with
someone like yourself. At least not right off a big break up like you
apparently had. First of all, I'm not here to pressure you in any way.
I'm not like that. I begged Jean to find someone else."

"Someone else?"

"To take you home and take care of you. But you wouldn't go home with
any member of the male population ... understandably ... and I was the
only woman left other than Jean. Jean had to get home, one of her
children was sick. So I got elected, even though I thought it was a
bad idea."

Reane paused, thinking before she began to speak. "I ... I had to help
you into the cab. I don't drive. And out again. You ... um ... were
singing, a little."

"Singing?"

"Um, yeah ... something about raindrops falling from your eyes ...
sounded like it was out of the sixties. You actually weren't too bad,"
Reane tried another friendly smile.

Melissa flushed.

Reane continued, "I brought you in and finally managed to get you into
bed. You claimed to be hot and kind of undressed."

"Kind of?"

"Well, yeah. You kind of threw your clothes around the bedroom. I had
already taken off your shoes for you. I tried to convince you to lie
down and sleep, but ..."

"I didn't want to. People tell me I don't respond well to suggestions
if I've had a few. I wasn't violent was I?"

Reane laughed a little. "You weren't violent, though I'm glad I'm not
Steve, whoever he is."

Melissa felt the sting of the tears before she could stop them. Reane
stopped her narrative, realising that she'd hit a nerve by mistake.

"I'm so sorry," she murmured.

"It's alright. I've already cried it out," Melissa mumbled, not really
believing it completely herself.

Reane took a deep breath and continued. "That's when things got a
little weird."

"Weird?" Melissa had some idea what weird meant.

"Yeah, you knelt up on the bed and announced that ... that you knew
that I was ... into girls. That Jean had told you. By the way, I'm
going to kill Jean for telling you that."

Melissa didn't remember Jean ever having said such a thing, or even
mentioning Reane's name before last night. Perhaps Jean had told her
last evening, during some sorority rite of turgid drinking.

"Anyway," Reane continued, trying to keep her voice steady, "you
announced that you wanted to have a little fun and that you wanted to
try it."

"I'm so sorry," Melissa mumbled, embarrassment flooding through her
veins.

Reane looked across the table at Melissa and tried to judge her state
of mind. Reane whispered quietly, "It wasn't completely unwelcome.
Jean, whenever she told you, didn't lie. And you are an attractive
woman." Melissa's face registered her shock. "Please don't take that
the wrong way. I understand. I've been dealing with that reaction all
my life and I don't mean to offend. I only mean it in a nice way."

"Oh my God," Melissa whispered as she realised that she actually had
done something last night. Up until now she'd been at least able to
have doubts. She wouldn't touch so much as wine ever again, as long as
she lived.

Reane's face clouded a little, perhaps in regret. "Don't 'Oh my God'
yet, Melissa. We didn't do anything. I swore to take care of you to
Jean, and damned if I wasn't going to. I sat in the chair in there and
calmed you down, fighting myself, and made you lie down. Eventually,
you did. I watched you sleep for a while until I couldn't keep my eyes
open any longer."

"But ..."

"I know. I wasn't exactly in the chair in the morning."

Melissa nodded, not quite sure what to think.

"I woke up an hour or so later by your clock. You were moaning, having
a nightmare or something. I gently woke you up, but you must have been
still feeling the effects of the alcohol. You cried for a time while I
held you. I don't think that you fully woke up. You apologised to me
... sleepily ... and then told me not to sleep in the chair. I was so
damn tired. I know I shouldn't have, but I wasn't thinking straight, I
was half asleep as well. I took off my clothes as I walked around the
bed, and then climbed in. I think I was asleep before my head hit the
pillow. I know I shouldn't have, but honestly, we didn't do anything.
I wouldn't. I couldn't. Not and feel good about myself in the morning."

Reane reached across the table and gripped Melissa's hand in hers.

"Melissa. I'm sorry. I thought you knew."

Melissa swallowed and began to cry, partially in relief, partially in
shame, partially in gratitude.

"Thank-you," Melissa whispered.

"For what?"

"For not taking advantage of me, and for taking care of me."

Reane smiled. "You're welcome. Thanks for not hating me and letting me
stay for breakfast."

Melissa smiled through her tears.

***

The house felt empty after Reane changed and left. Melissa moped
around, feeling the absence of the ring that she had worn for three of
the last ten months. She missed that more than Steve.

The phone remained silent, despite her frequent glances at it. She
cleaned up and watched television without really paying attention.
Night had fallen without her even aware of the fact. Her body was
aware of it, though. The static from the television woke her at the
station sign off. She stretched and stumbled to bed.

Reane's scent still filled the pillow beside her, stronger by far than
Steve's. She breathed in the scent of clover and honey and closed her
eyes.

***

It had been a hard week, end of month, end of quarter, everyone had
wanted a piece of her. Friday night and she was frazzled already. No
date to look forward to, nothing but the television and perhaps Jean
coming over sometime on the weekend. It was seven when she'd finally
sorted out the incompetence in accounting. She'd escaped the office
before the next round of phone calls inundated her. Every red light
seemed to be against her, everybody on the road seemed to be turning
left in front of her. Melissa was ready to scream as she fought
through the early weekend traffic towards her beachhouse. Maybe she
would jog on the beach when she got home. It might remind her of Steve
again, but she needed to do something, or she would go crazy. She was
over Steve, anyway. The jerk had never even tried to call her. Not
that she would have talked to him.

A figure sat on the front porch as she pulled up the driveway. The
heat of the day wasn't helping her emotional state, and she wasn't in
the mood for visitors, or salesmen, and if it was Steve looking for
his forgotten toothbrush, God help him. She'd give it back to him, but
he wouldn't be comfortable.

She slammed the car door and walked swiftly up the steps. The figure
rose. Melissa's heart skipped a beat, and her breath caught in her
throat. A familiar flash of brown hair and a diminutive frame. Reane
stood from the wicker chair biting gently at her lower lip. Melissa
stood stock still on the top step and regarded the girl.

Reane spoke first in a quiet voice, taking in the frazzled woman in
front of her. "I'm sorry. I caught you at a bad time."

Melissa found her tongue. For some reason her stomach was in knots.
"It's ... it's alright. What are you doing here?"

Reane looked pained, as though she really didn't know why she was here.

"I ... I wanted to see if you were alright." She took a deep breath.
"Jean wouldn't give me your number, and I didn't even know your last
name. I knew where you lived though," Reane tried a weak smile.

"I'm fine." Melissa walked slowly across the porch and fit her key
into the lock. The snick of the key turning broke through the silence.

Reane looked nervous and pained. "I should go. Should have listened to
Jean. I'm sorry for intruding." She began to walk slowly towards the
steps, her head bent slightly.

Melissa gathered her breath, not sure what she was doing, and called
to Reane, softly.

"Reane? Can I call you a cab, or something?"

Reane turned slowly at the bottom step, looking up at Melissa. "I'll
be alright. Thanks anyway. I don't live far." She turned and began to
walk down the concrete flagstones to the driveway.

"Reane?" The girl turned again at the bottom of the driveway, her eyes
looking a little dejected in the evening sun. "My last name is Nichols."

Melissa watched as the girl turned left at the bottom of the driveway
and disappeared down the sidewalk. Melissa opened her door and stepped
inside. She almost called out Steve's name, and then caught herself.
She felt like having a stiff drink, but refrained, settling in to
watch a Seinfeld re-run. She would order a pizza later; she didn't
feel like cooking and wasn't particularly hungry yet.

***

The phone rang, startling her. The phone had been unusually quiet at
night since Steve had left. She took a deep breath. If it was Steve,
she didn't know what she'd say. He hadn't called in the week since
he'd left, and she didn't expect him to, but he was still the most
likely caller. She debated letting the machine pick it up.

While she was debating with herself, hand over the receiver, the
machine took her decision from her. A female voice sprang from the
tinny speaker.

"Come on, pick up, Melissa. It's not Steve."

Melissa brightened quickly and picked up the receiver, her finger
switching off the machine before the feedback kicked her in the ear.

"Jean!"

"You moping around?"

Melissa considered lying, but refrained. "Yeah."

"Seinfeld?"

"What do you think?"

"Making you laugh?"

"Not a whit."

"You want to come out with the girls?" Jean asked.

"Is there alcohol involved?"

"What do you think? There has to be with us putting up with our
husbands all day," Jean joked lightly.

"I'm not drinking. I'm still hung over from last weekend," Melissa's
head still felt a bit fuzzy and it had been a full week since Steve's
abrupt departure.

"Well, come on out anyway, you need it."

There was never any doubt; she had to get out, even with a bunch of
drunk married women. "I'll tag along."

"Good stuff. Be there around nine."

Just enough time for a shower. Finally, Melissa had some purpose for
the first time all week. She jumped off the couch, pulling off her
office clothes in preparation for her shower before she had even left
the living room. Seinfeld bantered with Kramer for the empty room.

***

The club was smoky and noisy and full of men and women itching for
each other. Every slow song had the dance floor packed. Alcohol was
flowing freely, and Melissa had already fended off three drunken
idiots. She had no interest in men tonight. It was times like these
that she really missed Steve. They used to dance all night together,
and when she was with Steve she had never been approached by strange
drunkards. Jean sat with Melissa across the table. Jean had tried to
engage conversation over the bar music a number of times, but Melissa
wasn't in the mood to shout over the music or talk. She just watched
the people and nursed her Sprite as Jean talked animatedly to another
married friend who was sitting closer to her on the left side of the
table. Melissa watched as Jean sipped at her fourth Pina Colada. The
married friend, who had never been properly introduced to her, downed
another beer in one long swallow.

Melissa was faced towards the door as a familiar face entered the club
and paid the cover charge. The brunette walked across the dance floor,
spinning easily around the gyrating people. She finally settled across
the table beside Jean. She waved a hello to Melissa and then sat back
watching the people, declining to be drawn into conversation with
Jean, and refusing the offer of a drink. Jean shrugged and continued
some diatribe against husbands with her married friend.

***

Around midnight, Jean and her friend rose unsteadily to their feet.
They began a weaving gait towards the front entrance of the club, arms
around one another and laughing hysterically.

Melissa sighed, knowing that she was the designated driver tonight. It
hadn't been her choice or by any agreement. She simply was the only
one with a driver's license that was drinking only Sprite. Reane rose
with a knowing look and helped Melissa guide the other two women to
the door and out to Jean's BMW. She hadn't spoken two words to Reane
all night, but perhaps that was because the music had been so loud.

Reane grunted as she buckled Jean into the passenger seat amidst a few
protests as to Jean's ability to drive. Melissa safely had the keys,
so it didn't matter how sober Jean claimed to be. Melissa finished
putting on the seatbelt for the other woman. She straightened and
leaned on the roof of the car, breathing heavily. Reane, also
breathing hard, did the same.

"Guess I'll walk," Reane spoke over the roof.

"Don't be silly, I'll drop you home."

"You sure?"

"Shouldn't be out walking alone at this time of night."

"I do it all the time. Not much choice."

"Get in," Melissa admonished. Reane grinned and slipped into the back
seat where she immediately got sucked into an incoherent and partially
slurred discussion of why children should be seen and not heard.

Melissa, eventually, got directions to the other woman's house,
waiting and making sure she stumbled inside alright. Then she dropped
off Jean, sighing as she locked up the car. Jean had begged to be
taken home next and had disappeared quickly inside with some hasty
slurred comment about how her back teeth were floating. Melissa
seriously doubted if Jean was coming back out. Melissa dropped the
keys in Jean's mailbox and leaned over the roof of the red BMW. She
didn't have to walk far to get home, and despite her words to Reane
earlier, the streets were relatively safe in this neighbourhood. And a
walk would do her good.

"We never got a chance to talk," remarked Reane over the car.

"I know. Just had a lot on my mind, tonight."

"Care to talk about it?" Reane asked quietly. "I'm a good listener and
I think we're walking in the same direction."

Melissa nodded, weary and tired. They began to walk through the humid
air, the sounds of their footfalls the only sound in the quiet
neighbourhood. They never did talk.

***

Melissa was silently crying as they approached the beachhouse, but at
least the memory of Steve was fading considerably. Reane didn't seem
to mind the quiet tears, and didn't press Melissa. She helped Melissa
open her door. The door swung open gently, the doorknob knocking at
the wall behind.

"I guess I should invite you in. I'm sorry for not inviting you in
earlier," Melissa spoke quietly, wiping away the last of the tears.

"I understand. And I'll understand if you don't invite me in now
either," Reane gazed up at Melissa from the first step of the porch.
"But I don't bite, you know. I'd like to be friends at least, if we
are going to have to drive drunken friends home together with any
frequency. With Jean ... it could be a possibility."

Melissa stood framed in the doorway, leaning on it easily looking out.
A smile graced her lips at Reane's easy banter. Jean accepted the girl
for who she was. But Jean wasn't single, either, nor had she shared
her bed with the girl. It was easy to accept her under those
conditions. Nobody to label her a lesbian. Melissa idly wondered if
Reane had told anyone about that bizarre night. Probably not. The
light of the moon softly lit the front yard.

"Come on. I'll make some coffee and we can take it out to the beach,"
Melissa spoke with some trepidation.

Reane smiled gently and stepped back up onto the porch.

***

The strong aroma of the coffee drifted across the beach as the two
women walked across the sand through the pooling moonlight. Their
shoes were back at the house; their bare feet whispered across the
white sand.

Reane sat down abruptly, working her toes into the warm sand. Melissa
sat down easily beside her leaning back on her hands. The half moon
glowed silently above the waves.

"I really wanted to ask you to dance, tonight," Reane spoke softly.

Melissa turned to gaze into Reane's eyes. "I couldn't have," she spoke
softly and sipped at her coffee.

There was a slight pause as Reane turned back to the ocean. "I feel
... torn. It's been a long time for me, but I don't want to push you.
I want to let you know how I feel, and yet I don't. I probably
shouldn't have said anything. I don't want to make you feel awkward.
If you are uncomfortable with anything, please just tell me. Okay? I
... I really don't know what I'm doing here at all. And I won't be
offended."

"You aren't making me uncomfortable at all. I'm a big girl. I can take
care of myself."

"I didn't mind taking care of you," Reane spoke to the ocean.

Melissa took a deep breath and fought down the butterflies suddenly
fluttering in her stomach. Her and Steve had never shared coffee on
the beach. He had never offered to talk when they walked home from
Jean's. Fact was, he disliked Jean. And most of all, he'd never made
her breakfast. Why had she even agreed to marry him? Over-reacted to
the bent knee approach, she supposed. Caught up in the moment?

Was this over-reacting? Inviting Reane out here into her private
sanctuary? Like she had Steve? No ... she had taken Steve into her bed
the first night. She had refused to even think about Reane for a week.
Even though the girl was likeable, and had done nothing to her except
offer her support. More than Jean even had.

She gently touched Reane's shoulder. Reane turned, seeing the look in
Melissa's eyes.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm not sure. No. But I'm not drunk, I'm not high, and I'm feeling
like maybe I should be here. With you. It ... somehow feels right."

Reane gently leaned forward, never letting her eyes waver from Melissa
and softly kissed her.

Reane backed away and looked questioningly at Melissa. Melissa had
felt the electricity of the kiss tingle through her senses as it never
had with Steve. Melissa opened her eyes and gave Reane a gentle smile.
Then she fell to her hands and knees and offered her lips to Reane
again. This time, the kiss sent shock waves through her system,
flooding her with tingles and pleasant vibrations. She could feel her
body reacting, needing comfort, needing this.

The waves lapped at the shore as the women embraced, still kissing and
nervously laughing together. Melissa felt her hands touching the
unfamiliar female body beside her, touching breasts, hips, and belly
through Reane's light clothing. She could feel the soft sensations of
her top being unbuttoned and slipping down her arms, fluttering to the
sand. Her shorts and underwear slipped from her legs as she dove to
catch Reane, sitting and laughing gently in the sand. Reane allowed
her clothing to fall to the sand at the insistence of Melissa's
fingers. Melissa shivered as her bare skin touched the girl, felt the
new and different fingers lightly pinching at her swollen nipples. She
felt free for the first time in a long time as the fingers teased her.
A soft tongue licked playfully at her nipples, soft fingers tracing
down her belly, finding her folds, teasing her as she arched against
the sand. She gasped as Reane found her centre with her fingers. The
urgency built in her as the slender fingers circled her twice and
entered her gently. She could feel the long sharp nails as they slid
past her entrance. She squirmed beneath the touch, moaning quietly,
wanting to kiss. Reane seemed to know exactly what to do, knew Melissa
inside and out, naturally, somehow. The kiss came to her lips as
another electric pulse shook her, as Reane's fingers found her swollen
clitoris again. The salty air mixed with her tears as she cried out,
her muscles contracting as one. She arched, feeling the fingers enter
her again, filling her, the light pressure still teasing her clitoris.

She came down, satisfied and weak. She moaned and gently pushed
Reane's fingers from her breasts and vagina. The girl sat back and
watched Melissa as she fought her breath under control. Finally
Melissa opened her eyes and smiled at the brunette girl sitting nude
beside her in the sand.

"I'm afraid that I don't ..." Melissa whispered miserably.

Reane smiled gently in the darkness. "Know how to do me?" Reane
finished the thought.

Melissa felt the tears stinging her eyes again. She nodded miserably.

Reane smiled gently. "It's alright, Melissa. You do know how. Just do
what I did for you. We can experiment later, if you want. If it's
because you don't want to, that's fine too. I can take care of myself
later." There was no sense of guilt or regret in her soft musical voice.

Melissa almost cried. She couldn't remember the last lover she had had
that only cared for her pleasure. She didn't think there ever had been
one.

She took a deep breath, remembering the intense climax that Reane had
given to her. She rolled onto her side and carefully motioned Reane to
the sand. She shushed her as Reane began to softly protest.

The intensity of the tingles didn't diminish with her past climax.
Melissa still felt them as she gently kissed the girl. She'd
masturbated many times between loves and before she'd met Steve, so
she knew at least what to do. Her fingers easily found Reane's
breasts, gently rubbing the erect nipples. She kissed away Reane's
gasps. She teased the girl as best she could, finding her sensitive
spots as though she was born to know them. Slowly, she found where
Reane wanted her, entering her, withdrawing, slowly circling the
swollen clitoris at her centre. Reane was very ready, very wet,
gasping and pushing against the light friction of Melissa's
fingertips. It didn't take Melissa long to find the rhythm of Reane's
body. The brunette climaxed quickly and heavily, biting her lip as she
fell over the edge. Her body arched, straining and crying out the
single word, "Yessss!" across the smiling ocean.

Reane's bare body relaxed, finding her peace, hair splayed out across
the white sand beneath her, her eyes still closed. Melissa kissed
Reane's closed lids with a sense of regret for a life left behind and
a growing excitement for a life just beginning and the eagerness of
sharing. Reane smiled up at her and gently kissed Melissa's lips.
Shocks.

Slowly they rose to their bare feet and walked hand in hand back to
the beach house, leaving their discarded clothing forgotten in the sand.

***

Her eyes fluttered open with a groan as the first rays of dawn broke
over the horizon and warmed her face through her bedroom window. She
blinked her eyes slowly, waiting for the scratchiness of sleep to fade
from beneath her lids. She half expected to feel her head pounding and
her stomach deep in heavy nausea. Such strange dreams, such undeniable
pleasures. The soft purring that wasn't Lucifer touched softly her
ear. She turned her head slowly, smiling at the gentle angelic face
framed by the morning sun. Her brunette lover stirred but didn't wake.

She tried to turn over and smiled at the now familiar weight of
Reane's hand cupping her breast. Gently, she lifted the small hand
from her chest and slipped quietly out of bed. She watched Reane sleep
for a few minutes and then gathered her running clothes.

She wondered if breakfast would be ready for her when she stepped from
her shower or if she would make it this morning for Reane. The sun was
greeting a new day as she stepped barefoot onto the cool sand. She
glanced up at her window, thought she saw a sleepy face and a hand
waving, and then set out to run until it hurt. She didn't think it
would hurt nearly as much this morning.






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