("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author © 2005. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. You may post freely to non-commercial "free" sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites. Thank you for your consideration. -------------------------------------------------------- A Benign Something by J.T. Malone (jtmalone70@yahoo.com) *** Two women, straight and lesbian, come together. (FF, 1st-lesbian-expr, rom) *** Author's Note: As always, if you're looking for a "quickie" story or something along the lines of "Dear Penthouse", this isn't the story for you. It is as realistic and believable as I could create it. Hence, it moves at a more realistic pace. *** I was sitting on the couch waiting for my daughter, Rachel, to finish getting ready. We were going to a gay and lesbian festival in the park – a fundraiser and luncheon - at the request of Rachel's new girlfriend Kate. So, as a show of support for my daughter, I said I'd come along. Almost two years prior to this, when Rachel was a freshman in college, she came home one day from school and, over dinner, broke the news that she was a lesbian. Or so she said. The only reason I had my lingering doubts was because of the way she acted about it, as if it wasn't a big deal. Granted, it shouldn't be, but she seemed to be taking it in rather casual stride, considering it was a bit more than simply changing your hairstyle or college major. Only a few weeks before, she had been talking about seeing a young man in one of her classes, even going so far as to have lunch with him twice. But now she was a lesbian and, although I had my doubts, and even though we did talk about it to some length, I accepted her decision and left it at that. If it were a phase, she'd likely get over it at some point. Even she admitted it could be such, which only fueled my doubts. Rachel had been dating Kate for a little over three months. She was a nice enough girl, but a bit rough around the edges. Aside from several tattoos, she also sported a number of piercings, which seemed to do more to attract attention to her, than act as an outward expression of her personality. And, although I never saw her doing so, I assumed she smoked, due to the residual smoke I could smell on her from time to time. But, over all, she was a decent, kind person. Rachel seemed to enjoy her company a great deal, and, as long as she was happy, that's what mattered. Whereas Kate was an Art History major, Rachel was studying Anthropology. My understanding is that they met in an art class. And, while Kate was adorned with numerous body modifications, Rachel had none. Well, that is, until her new girlfriend talked her into getting her tongue pierced. At first, it was a little unsettling to see them holding hands. I think any parent would feel that way. You know someone all their life, and then one day something shifts dramatically about them, and it takes some getting use to. When I saw them kiss for the first time – not that I was gawking, mind you; I simply walked into the living room at the wrong time – I didn't cringe because my daughter had her tongue in another girl's mouth. I did so because it was so utterly foreign to me. And, to be frank, I did so because I was seeing a relatively intimate moment between my daughter and her girlfriend, something I'd normally assume to be inherently personal. It wasn't a bad thing. I wasn't mad or upset. It was strange, because it was all so new to me. But now, after a few months to acclimatize myself to their relationship, it wasn't so unnerving. Rachel at last came tromping down the steps. "Ready?" she huffed, throwing her arms into her jacket. A short time later, after picking up Kate at her apartment, we arrived at the park. Just like with so many other things in her life, Rachel typically threw herself into whatever it was currently holding her interest, be it classes, music, clothes, friends, and the like. Now that she was a lesbian, she and Kate joined the student Les-Bi-Gay-Trans organization on campus. I never really gave them a second thought, to be honest. To me, they were just regular people. Maybe a bit strange, though only, as I said, in light of the fact that it was all so new to me. After all, it's not every day you see a large bearded man strolling down the street in a dress, let alone your own daughter holding hands with another young woman. After I parked the car, the three of us walked to the park, about a block away and smack in the middle of town. There were four streets on four sides of the park, so there was no way you'd miss seeing the event, should you drive through town. There were balloons, booths offering different sorts of foods and beverages, as well as various types of books and literature. And, of course, it wouldn't quite be a party without games, clowns, and assorted one-person acts in the form of jugglers, musicians, and magicians. I suppose it's fair to say, although I was glad to see everyone smiling and happy and out in the open about their sexuality, in the back of my mind, I did have to question whether this sort of thing had a bit too much of a carnival atmosphere to it, seeing as how kids going by might form a different impression, wondering what the hubbub was all about. After all, there was a slight sexual undertone, and sometimes more than simply slight. Some of the prizes at the game booths were condoms and the like, and one of the jugglers did toss about a few adult toys. Suffice it to say, though, I was pleased to be there with my daughter, as a show of parental support, but I did feel a tad squeamish, too. Our trio walked around the park, checking out one booth after the next, Rachel and Kate occasionally stopping to chat with a friend. At one point, as they engaged in a lively conversation with another young woman adorned in tattoos and body piercings, I kept myself occupied by thumbing through a book of poetry at a nearby booth. "You interested in that?" I looked up and saw a short, portly woman with a broad smile standing on the other side of the table from me. She had long, straight black hair and large glasses that made her eyes seem unusually large; large, but friendly. I glanced at the book in my hand. "Oh, uh... Yeah... I guess. It's interesting." I hadn't even had a chance to read anything in it. She smiled again. "I wrote that," she said, gesturing to the small book in my hand. "Oh, I see." She leaned down under the table and pulled out a small plastic bag, and then reached for the book. "Here ya go," she said, taking it from me and placing it in the bag. I took a deep breath, saying it was ok, too embarrassed to tell her I didn't actually want to purchase it. But she seemed to sense this and dropped the small book into the bag and handed it to me. "Yours to keep," she said with the same friendly grin. With my face turning red, I chuckled. "Oh, really... No, that's ok. I can't." "S'ok," she replied. "I gotta whole box of 'em down here and haven't sold one all morning. You're nice, you're pretty... what the heck," she exclaimed happily. "You're the only person who's opened one up." My apprehensions faded, though I was slightly embarrassed by her remark about being pretty. I took the bag, albeit reluctantly, and thanked her. She only shrugged, still standing there and smiling, looking at me with those big eyes. I stood there fidgeting for a moment, and then mumbled that I should probably get going, but not before thanking her once more. "Sure," she said, giving me a small wave. I stepped back over to Rachel and her friends, standing with my back to the table, trying to hide my embarrassment. After a tortuously long wait, the conversation between Rachel and Kate and their friend ended, and we continued on our way. A short time later, the three of us found a bench to sit on. While Rachel and Kate went to get us a bite to eat, I sat on the bench alone, watching them stroll off into the distance, walking from one food vender to the next. I sighed and smiled and crossed one leg over the other and waited. I guess I'm a people-watcher by nature. As I sat there, I looked out at the milling crowd. Maybe a few hundred people were there. Men holding hands, women holding hands, and a sprinkling of couples of mixed gender, obviously heterosexual. It was actually quite pleasant to see everyone, regardless of what sort of person they were on the inside, laughing and chatting and enjoying a beautiful afternoon in the park. I turned my gaze toward where Rachel and Kate stood in a long line. Rachel had her arm draped over her girlfriend's shoulder, while the later had her hand in the back pocket of Rachel's shorts. I smiled and just then saw Kate's hand come out and grip Rachel's butt. She jumped, as if startled, and playfully poked Kate in the ribs. I chuckled and turned away and down at the plastic bag sitting along side me. Just as I picked up the bag and pulled out the little book of poetry, a large man, bald and chubby, with a small dog on a leash, came and stopped in front of the bench. "You mind if I sit and rest a moment?" he asked in, dare I say, a rather effeminate voice. I smiled and said sure, but glanced down at the girls to see if they were heading back any time soon. They were still waiting in line, though making progress toward the front. "God, thanks," he huffed, as he plopped down next to me. The little dog yipped up at his master, and the man, fanning himself with some sort of leaflet, sighed. "No, no, sweetie. Daddy's gotta rest a minute, ok?" Then he turned to me, saying, "Lord, it's brutal out today, don't ya think?" I closed the book, trying not to chuckle, and looked up at the sky. We were sitting in the shade, and I was wearing sunglasses and my straw garden hat. "Yeah, a little," I replied, giving him a smile. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Yeah," he said. "Just a little." After a few minutes, he finally hefted his heavy body off the bench. "Ok, stinker," he said to the little dog. "Let's keep moving." Then he looked down at me. "Thank you so much, dear," he said with a big grin. I smiled in reply and watched them slowly trot away. No sooner had I gone back to my book, than yet someone else asked to sit on the bench. This time it was a woman's voice. I placed my hand in the book and put on another smile and looked up. A woman, probably in her mid-thirties, stood before me. She was tall and slender and tan, with long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, and a blue cap atop her head. She was smiling down at me from behind her sunglasses, holding a Styrofoam cup in one hand and a plastic bag with what appeared to be books in the other. I sighed and smiled, repeating my previous performance with the man and his little dog. "Sure," I said, placing my bag on the other side of me, so as to give her more room. "Thanks," she replied with a toothy smile. As she sat down next to me, I turned back to my book. From the corner of my eye, I could see her do as myself, crossing one long tanned leg over the other. A runner, I thought. She had to be a runner or, at the very least, athletic. I could see the toned muscles of her legs bulge slightly, not to mention the running shoes. Then she set her bag down on the bench between us, and I quickly darted my eyes back to the book in my hands. A minute or so later, I heard a slurping sound and looked up. The woman was holding the straw of her cup to her lips, and then pulled it away, giving it a dissatisfied expression. She must have sensed I was watching and turned to me. "Empty," she said, giving the cup a shake. I smiled, and then she turned and dropped the cup into a trashcan behind the bench. Just as I went back to my book, she softly exclaimed, "Oh, I have that." I looked up and smiled, raising my eyebrows. "Pardon?" She grinned and gestured to my book. "I got that, too," she said. I looked down and held it up. "This?" She grinned and chuckled and opened her plastic bag, pulling out the same book of poetry. Then she glanced over her shoulder, back in the direction of the stand from which we both found it, saying, "You got it from Darla, right?" "Oh, um... Well, I guess. Don't know her name." I looked over at the booth and saw the woman in question talking to someone in front of her table. They were laughing, and then she leaned down and pulled out a plastic bag from under the table, while at the same time reaching for the book in the other person's hand. "Uh, yeah. That's who I got it from," I replied. Then I turned back to the woman sitting next to me. She smiled, and, in an instant, something struck me as odd about it. But before I could put any more thought into her smile, she held out her hand. "I'm Gayle," she said. I took her hand in mine, and she gave it a gentle squeeze. "Jess," I replied. As she released me from her soft hand, I heard Rachel's voice. "Ok, hope you like what we got, because we're not gonna go back and stand in line." I turned and looked up, as Rachel and Kate stopped in front of me. "Oh, hey, Gayle," said Kate. Apparently, the two were acquainted. Rachel glanced up from the brown paper bag full of food, splotched with round grease stains, upon hearing Kate, and said hello to Gayle, as well. Rachel then looked at me, and then to Gayle. "Oh, uh, mom, this is Gayle. Gayle this is..." But Gayle and I smiled, glancing at each other. "We've met," I said. Gayle nodded and smiled at my daughter, and then to me. Rachel blinked and stared at us for a moment, finally replying, "Oh, uh... Ok, then." Then came the awkward moment I'd almost forgotten about. Rachel and Kate stood before us silent, holding the bag of food, and then my daughter gestured to the bench. "So, uh... how's this gonna work?" she asked with a bit of a chuckle. The four of us exchanged puzzled expressions, and then Gayle quickly gathered up her things. "Oh, here," she said hurriedly. "Sit. You guys sit. Sorry, didn't mean to intrude." I looked up, as she stood, and smiled at her. "No intrusion," I replied with a friendly shrug. Gayle paused for but a brief second and smiled. And then I noticed it again, something about that smile, something strange about it, almost mysterious. Still grinning, I swallowed, trying to hide my embarrassment. When she had everything in her hands, Gayle bid Rachel and Kate farewell, and then turned to me. "Nice to meet you," she said, wiggling her fingers, as she walked away. "You, too." For the remainder of the afternoon, we browsed and shopped, sampling various types of food and beverages, and finally sat in the grass near where the talent show would be taking place. And, as had been typical for most of the day, Rachel and Kate found another friend to go over and chat with. As I sat on a blanket, I pulled out my book, and, no sooner had I opened it, than I heard a familiar voice. I turned and saw Gayle sitting not far away. She was talking to someone, another woman, and they seemed to be having a rather lively and friendly conversation. Smiling, I returned to my book, but found it difficult to concentrate, as every now and then, I'd hear Gayle laugh, a light, airy giggle. And every time she did, I found myself smiling in reply. Most of the poetry in the book was only so-so. Not all that interesting or unique, to be honest. But it was something to do, while waiting for the show to begin. But soon I noticed something had changed. Over the din of laughter and voices all around me, I didn't hear Gayle's voice any longer. Curious, I turned to where she had been sitting, to see if she had left, but, no, there she was, sitting like myself, with her legs crossed and hunched forward reading her book. She had taken her cap off, her hair still in a long brown ponytail. Gayle was slender, but not skinny; small in the bosom, but not without a figure. Her face was narrow, tipped off with a thin nose and high cheekbones, and her arms seemed long, but maybe that was because of the shirt she was wearing. It was white and sleeveless with a low-cut neck. As for her shorts, they were fairly routine: khaki with snapping pockets on the thighs. Below all of this, she wore small white tennis shoes and no socks. In a word, Gayle was a handsome woman, with sharp features you'd expect to see of a model adorning the cover of a magazine. I could almost imagine that, if she were dressed more formally, she would strike quite charming image. She did seem, as best I could tell by our very brief conversation, to be somewhat of a strong woman, strong in character that is; an independent spirit of sorts. She seemed to be the type of person who would sit in an office somewhere high up in a skyscraper making great financial decisions; a woman of business prowess, clever and deft and intelligent. As I sat staring at her, I began to wonder who she was, what she did for a living, the things she liked and disliked. And then she stretched her long arms over her head, pushing her chest out, and smiled over at me, when our eyes met. I smiled back and she grinned more broadly in reply. That's when it suddenly dawned on me that I had been staring at her, probably longer than was considered polite. Embarrassed, I quickly glanced down at the ground, trying to think of something to say. "You, uh... by yourself?" I asked. Gayle smiled and leaned closer, holding a hand to her ear. I fidgeted and turned more toward her. "You alone?" I called a bit louder. She sat up straight and looked about with a forlorn expression, holding her hands out, her book clasped in her fingers. Then an exaggerated frown crossed her lips and she nodded very unhappily. I laughed, then Gayle laughed, and I asked if she'd like to come over and sit with me, gesturing to my blanket. Apparently confused by my offer and unable to hear me clearly, she, in turn, gestured to me, then to her, and then, bewildered, held up her hands. We both laughed, and I cupped my hands around my mouth, calling out loudly, "Would you like to sit with me?" A few conversations that had been taking place around me suddenly came to a halt, as all eyes turned in my direction. "Sorry," I mumbled with a blush to the couple sitting closest. A moment later, Gayle was slowly striding over to me. As she sat down, she looked at the couple to which I had apologized. "Sorry 'bout that," she said with a big grin. "She's a bit hard of hearing." They only smiled half-heartedly and nodded, and then resumed their conversation. Gayle plopped down next to me, crossing her legs and smiled. "Thanks," she said. I shrugged. I wanted to apologize for staring, but thought better than to bring it up. Maybe she hadn't noticed. She unscrewed the cap off a bottle of water and, while taking a gulp, gestured to the book in my hand. "Oh," I replied, holding it up slightly. "Yeah, still sorta... you know, pluggin' away at it. Trying to, anyway." Gayle nodded and brought the bottle down and replaced the cap. "Where's Rach and Kate?" she asked, looking around the crowd. I gazed about, as well, until I saw them sitting not far off. "Over there," I replied, pointing in their direction. Gayle slowly nodded, playing with the bottle in her hands. Now came the moment of awkward silence. "So," I asked, planting my hands on my lap. "What is it you do? For a living, I mean." Gayle smiled and uncrossed her legs, pulling her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. "Um, physical therapist," she replied. My hands twitched, as I quickly shot back, saying, "Oh, I shoulda guessed." "Why's that?" she asked with a grin. And there it was once more – that suspicious smile of hers. There was just something about it, something I couldn't quite put my finger on. I could feel my face turning red, as I tried to think of a way to word my reply. No matter what I said, it was going to be painfully obvious that I'd been staring at her, specifically her body. "Well, you know," I mumbled. "No, I don't," she said, shaking her head and still wearing that smile. I thought about it for a moment, and then decided to simply give in. "You just look like someone who... I dunno," I stammered. "Maybe you run or play tennis or something like that. I'm just saying..." Gayle slowly nodded, as I tried to explain myself, her grin growing wider. Then she chuckled and placed her hand on my knee, saying, "Ok, you can stop now." As she pulled her hand away, she turned to her side and produced a small white paper bag. "Cookie?" she asked, holding the bag between her thumb and forefinger. I smiled. "Um... Sure, ok." She pulled out one large chocolate chip cookie between her long tan fingers, and then carefully handed it to me. "Thank you." Gayle licked her thumb and finger, replying, "...welcome." Then she plucked one out for herself. For a moment, neither of us spoke, and an uneasy feeling came over me. I glanced at her from the corner of my eye, watching her chew and look around, as we waited for the talent show to start. Then she took another bite. "And whadda you do?" she asked, holding a hand over her mouth. "High school teacher," I replied, breaking off a piece of my cookie. Gayle slowly nodded, and then turned her eyes to me. "Yeah, I coulda guessed that," she said with a grin. I chuckled, breaking off another piece. "And why's that?" I asked. She shrugged. "The way you're dressed." I chuckled again, my shoulders bouncing up and down. "And how am I dressed?" Gayle snickered, replying, "I dunno... like a high school teacher... a school marm." I smirked and nodded, taking a bite. "Ok," I said. "Fair enough." "Whatcha teach?" "English," I replied, smiling back at her. Gayle grinned, saying her younger sister was an elementary teacher, as was their mother, though retired now. "You like it?" she asked. I picked away at my cookie and shrugged. "Yeah, for the most part. But I dunno... Sometimes I think it'd be nice to be able to teach it to people who really wanted to learn it." Gayle chuckled. "Yeah," she said, reaching for her bottle of water. "I can remember being bored to tears in that class. The Great Gatsby," she said, holding the bottle to her lips. She took a few gulps, and then dropped the bottle down again. "That was a real snoozer," she added with a light laugh. I grinned. "Yeah," I said. "I guess it is a bit worn out." Gayle set her bottle down and rotated her body so she was facing me. She crossed her legs and gave me her patented mysterious smile. And, I don't know why, but I could feel my face turning red. "So what're you guys reading in your class?" she asked. I slowly brought the cookie to my mouth, replying, "The Great Gatsby." Gayle doubled over and slapped her hand to my knee, laughing out loud. For the next hour, we sat and talked, even after the talent show had long since started. Every now and then, we'd stop to watch a particular act on stage, but then one of us would start up the conversation again. Gayle was lively and fun, sometimes animated, when she spoke, and whenever she listened, she did so with great intensity, leaning forward and smiling and slowly nodding her head. There never really seemed to be a dull moment, during the conversation, getting to know one another. And the more she spoke, the more I wanted to know. So, it was with some sadness that it ended, when the show stopped and Rachel and Kate came walking over to us. Gayle helped me to my feet, and then helped pick up my blanket and assorted belongings. We giggled and laughed, the same as we had been doing for well over the last hour. "It was really nice meeting you," she said, holding out a delicate hand. I grinned wide and offered her mine, and said likewise. And, as she held my hand in hers, she gave it an almost imperceptible squeeze, running her thumb gently over the top of it. My smile twitched, though I'm sure she didn't notice, and then, just as she released me, she winked, very quickly, but there all the same, and said goodbye. That evening, as I sat at home watching television and nothing in particular, I found myself wondering what Gayle was doing at that moment. I couldn't imagine that someone like her - pretty and intelligent and a wonderful conversationalist - would be sitting at home alone. I turned to look up the steps, up toward the bedrooms. Rachel and Kate were in her room with the door closed. The stereo was playing, though not loudly, and every now and then, I'd hear one or both of them laugh. I turned back to the television and smiled and sighed. At least someone was having a good time. When I finally went to bed, they were still in Rachel's room, although, once in a while, they had made sudden quick appearances throughout the course of the evening. Otherwise, they remained cloistered away inside her tiny bedroom. I turned off the lights downstairs, save for that in the kitchen, in case someone woke in the middle of the night. Then I crept up the stairs to my room. As I reached the top step, I could make out the faint smell of incense coming from my daughter's room. I paused briefly by her door and could hear very soft music playing from inside. Then I heard what could only be a sigh. I took a deep breath and briskly stepped into my bedroom and shut the door. I walked over to the nightstand beside the bed and clicked on the light. My room was large, and I had been its sole occupant for the last four years. My husband passed away much too soon, and I missed him terribly, but what I was starting to miss most of all was the company. I had long ago come to terms with his death, but never quite with the emptiness in my heart, my life, my home, even my bed. About a year and a half after his passing, Rachel suggested I might start dating – with her permission, of course. That's a difficult thing to do, no matter how you slice it. Sadness, regret, shame, even embarrassment. I felt it all, at the very thought of dating, of actively seeking out someone else, after having devoted myself exclusively to one person for so many years. My one true love was gone, the man with whom I thought I would grow old. But, more and more, I grew unhappy in being without a close friend, a companion, someone I could lean on and hold. I was tired of being alone. I never told Rachel, but a short time after her suggestion, and while she was away for a weekend class excursion, I went to a bar in search of what I thought I needed. Not what I wanted, but what I needed. I met a man there, wholly not my type, and brought him home with me. We had sex, if you could call it that. I kneeled on the floor in front of the couch and took him into my mouth. He didn't last very long, and soon I was gagging, as he worked my head up and down. After he ejaculated into my mouth, I crawled over to a waste paper basket and spit, to which he responded with a disapproving chuckle. Even still, I crawled back and took over masturbating him, keeping his erection so I could have a chance to feel good, too. When he was fully erect again, he had me turn and drop my jeans and panties. I handed him a condom from my purse, and then he entered me roughly and fucked the same. And, as before, his ejaculation came all too soon. I hadn't felt much of anything, as we briefly had intercourse, except for a deep sense of regret that slowly enveloped me, as he thrust into my body. I pulled up my jeans, and he did likewise, and then left with no great fanfare. He got what he wanted, and I was left feeling ashamed and angry with myself and the life I felt was unfairly handed to me. To be sure, I had friends. I had friends at work, friends next door, even a few of my husband's former colleagues and pals who occasionally said hello, on the off chance we bumped into each other. But they had their own lives and families. Friends come second to family, something I could hardly hold against them. Sure, I had Rachel, the only child of our marriage. And since my husband's death, she and I had become closer. I still couldn't help but think of her sudden "outing" as a lesbian was more a result of coping with the loss of her father, than it was a part of her nature to be attracted to the same sex. She had dated boys for a very long time, but I suppose this was her way of dealing with the trauma and loss. Mine was to sit at home and feel sorry for myself, trying to cope as best I knew how. But Gayle struck me as a ray of hope - a possibility, though I don't know exactly why. It may have been a combination of things. I liked her personality, and we seemed to get along well enough, if only for the short time we talked. But what I think most intrigued me was that she didn't know my story or me. She seemed to know Rachel and might know something about the tragedy that befell our family. Still, Gayle didn't know me. Our friends, after my husband's death, treated me with kid gloves, and, to some extent, seemed to keep a respectable distance, likely their way of letting me mourn. The thing is, they never came back. A few tried, but when we made the attempt at resuming our normal routine, I could tell, it wasn't quite the same. They'd drop me off to a darkened home, while they returned to their family, and an air of discomforting gloom seemed to settle upon us, as we said goodbye for the evening. But Gayle wasn't like this. She didn't treat me as if she felt sorry for me. With her, it felt like starting with a clean slate. Others might look upon our brief encounter in the park as insignificant, shrugging it off as one of those minor occurrences in life; you make a new acquaintance, perhaps with the possibility of becoming a friend, but if not, oh well. They already have plenty of those, as it stands. Friends come and go. But, in my mind, meeting Gayle carried slightly more weight. She could very well be my way back to a life of normalcy. I liked her, and she seemed to like me. We enjoyed each other's company. To me, she fit the bill. Gayle was what I wanted. The next morning, I walked downstairs to breakfast and found Rachel sitting at the kitchen table, eating a bowl of cereal and reading the newspaper. "Kate go home already?" I asked. Rachel looked up and bobbed her head, as she chewed. I opened the refrigerator and pulled out the milk. "What time she leave?" Still reading the paper, Rachel shrugged. "Maybe half hour ago," she replied. I walked over to the table with a bowl in one hand and glass of ice tea in the other. While Rachel continued reading, I tried to think of a way to bring up the subject of Gayle. I reached over for part of the newspaper under her elbow, and she lifted it, still keeping her gaze fixed on the paper. "Hey, I wanted to ask you something." Rachel took another bite of cereal and looked over at me. As I carefully opened the paper, trying to act very nonchalant about the whole thing, I asked if she knew Gayle's last name. "Mah-nin," she replied with a mouthful of cereal. I tilted my head and cocked an eyebrow. "Pardon?" Rachel chuckled, wiped the milk that had drooled onto her chin, and swallowed. "Martin," she said. Then she went back to reading the paper. I tried to think of another way to ply her for information, but then she reached out for her glass of orange juice, and spoke. "Why?" she asked. "Why what?" "Why'd ya wanna know?" I shrugged, trying to feign innocence, which wasn't entirely contrived. It was a good question: why did I want to know? "I dunno," I stammered. "She didn't mention it, and I didn't think to ask. Just curious." Rachel nodded and took a long gulp from her glass, setting it down and continued reading. I waited a few seconds, and then asked what she was like. Rachel shrugged and turned the page. "Nice, I guess." I dropped my shoulders and sighed softly. That wasn't a very descriptive answer. "So, she's a physical therapist?" "Yeah... at the hospital." Rachel worked part time there, so I figured that must be where they met. I opened the newspaper and took a bite of my cereal. "She seemed pretty nice," I said, fishing for Rachel to continue the thread, but all she did was shrug and give a curt reply. "Yeah," she said. "She's cool." I could see this wasn't going anywhere and decided to drop the subject. For the remainder of the day, I tried to keep myself busy. It was a typical dull Sunday for me. I cleaned up around the house, tried to work in the garden, but still, I was bored to tears. Rachel had gone out with Kate somewhere, leaving me to my own devices. By 3pm, I was about at my wit's end. I couldn't take the silence and isolation any longer. I walked into the kitchen to the phone and flipped through the university directory looking for Gayle Martin. And then I found it. I picked up the phone and was about to dial, but stopped. What was I doing? I hardly even know her. We only talked for, perhaps, a total of an hour and ten minutes. And now I was calling her, as if we were dear old chums? I quickly hung up the phone. No, I thought. Even I would think it a bit strange for someone I had only just met to do that. And then depression set in. I slowly trudged out to the living room and fell back onto the couch. "I need to get outa here," I mumbled, running my hands through my hair. A few hours later, after doing the laundry and folding it, attempting to clean Rachel's room, but immediately stopping upon finding a sex toy under her bed, aside from the usual clutter, she finally arrived home. She was helping me fix dinner in the kitchen, when she nearly knocked my socks off. "Guess who we saw at the mall?" she asked, while slicing a cucumber. I was rinsing a head of lettuce in the sink. "Who's that?" I replied. "What's-her-name." I chuckled. "And who would that be?" Rachel tossed a small slice of cucumber into her mouth, replying, "That, uh, Gayle chick. Gayle Martin." My heart instantly started racing, and all the blood in my body sank to my feet. "Oh yeah?" I replied, trying to maintain some control and not seem overtly, even strangely, enthusiastic about this revelation. I turned off the water and shook the lettuce in the sink, and then placed it in a bowl and began peeling it. "And what'd she have to say?" I asked with a nervous grin. Rachel picked up the cutting board and scraped the cucumber slices into a bowl. "Notta whole lot," she replied. My sudden glee quickly evaporated. Rachel set the empty board in the sink and turned on the water to rinse it off. "Oh... Almost forgot," she said. "She asked what you were doing Thursday night." I had just picked up the bowl of lettuce and was about to turn toward the kitchen table, when she said that. I gulped and glanced at Rachel, who thankfully wasn't looking, as I'm sure I was white as a ghost. "Yeah?" I squeaked. Rachel pulled the board out of the sink and began wiping it off with a dishtowel. "Yeah, said she's having some friends over at her place and wanted to know if you'd wanna come over too, I guess. I dunno... I wasn't really paying attention and she talks kinda fast, anyway." Now I could feel my face turning red - red with anger. I wanted to toss the lettuce across the room and throttle my own flesh and blood. Instead, I forced myself to remain calm. "Did she, uh... saying anything else? Any information? Like when and where?" Rachel wiped her hands with the towel and turned to me. She seemed to be racking her brain, trying to remember, while I became more impatient. "Umm... Oh, yeah," she finally said, and reached into her back pocket, pulling out a small slip of paper. "She wrote it down." Rachel handed it to me, and there, scrawled on it in someone else's handwriting, obviously not Rachel's, was a name, phone number, address, and time. Below this were the words, "Dress casual". Next to that was a smiley face. The blood that had boiled to my face now flooded back down to my feet. "Gonna go?" "Hm?" I looked up and Rachel was staring at me. She poked her finger at the paper in my hand. "Gonna go?" she asked. "Oh... Um... Yeah, well, uh... Sure. Sure, I don't think I have anything going on that night, so, uh... yeah, you know, why not? Sure." Rachel smirked. "Yeah," she replied sarcastically. "You gotta real busy schedule, huh?" Then she turned and walked into the living room. "A real social butterfly," she said. "That's you." For the remainder of the night, I felt giddy. I hadn't felt this good in a long time. For some reason this little, otherwise insignificant, invitation made me feel more alive than ever before. So much time had passed, since I last felt such joy in my heart, and I was happily becoming reacquainted with something I thought I'd never again experience. Today was Sunday and the get-together, or whatever it was, wouldn't be until the following Thursday - four agonizingly long days. All evening, I fought the urge to call her. Over and over, I played out in my mind what I'd say, what my reason would be for calling. To thank her? To let her know I had accepted her offer? Or maybe she felt sorry for me. Maybe she and Rachel had been talking that afternoon and somehow my name came up in the conversation. "Where's your mom?" "Sitting at home sulking. She's really in bad shape. Boy, I feel sorry for her, don't you?" Was this a pity invitation? No. No, it couldn't be. Besides, I doubt Rachel would talk about me like that. I think she understood what I was going through. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I reasoned out how that conversation probably went. "Where's your mom?" "Uh... Last I saw her, she was at home vacuuming the rug. Why?" That was more like the Rachel I knew. So, I didn't call Gayle. I wanted to. I wanted to very badly, but I didn't. I resisted the temptation. No, I thought, I'd call her tomorrow evening. Still, that would be a torturous twenty-four hours. That night, as I crawled into bed, I leaned over to set my alarm on the nightstand. The phone was sitting next to it. I glanced at the clock once more, the fleeting thought of calling her coursing through my mind, but quickly turned away and pulled the covers up over my shoulders. "Definitely not at this time of night," I mumbled. Sure enough, the next day was pure Hell for me. I was nearly tempted to call her around noon, but thought better of it. That would probably be worse than calling her as soon as I got the invitation. So I waited. Every now and then, I'd glance at the clock in the back of my classroom, seeing how much longer I'd have to wait and suffer. The hands moved slowly, excruciatingly slowly. And even though it felt like the day would never end, with each passing hour, every minute that slipped by, I knew I was that much closer to home, the phone, and my new friend. It wasn't until 4:30pm that I finally cast off the shackles and jumped in the car and sped home. By 5pm, I was standing in the kitchen debating whether or not to call. I looked over at the clock, my new tormentor, and bit my lower lip. Shaking my head, I forced myself to walk away. "Too soon," I muttered. "Might not be home." What about calling her at six? I shook my head again. No. That might be too soon, as well. She might be out jogging or running or exercising or whatever it is she does. All right, how about seven? Surely she must be done by then. I sat on the edge of the couch and thought about it. Seven o'clock. No, let's make it seven-thirty, just to be on the safe side. Ok, but what're you going to do until then? Make dinner. And that's how I busied myself for the next hour. By 6pm, Rachel was home, but said she had a late lunch and wasn't hungry. Although it would have been nice to know this before I prepared enough food for two people, still, it killed an hour. Half an hour later, I had finished dinner, chatted with Rachel for a few minutes about her day, and was ready to clean up. When seven o'clock rolled around, I decided that was long enough. I was going to call Gayle. I walked over to the phone and pulled from my pocket the slip of paper she had given to Rachel, and, as I dialed the number, my fingers trembled slightly. Then I held the phone to my ear and waited nervously. It rang once. Then twice. Then three times. I closed my eyes. "C'mon," I mumbled. "Hello?" My eyes flew open and I smiled. "Uh, yeah... is this Gayle?" "Speaking." "Hi, this is, uh, Jessica... Jess... I dunno if you remem-" "Oh, yeah," she chuckled, cutting me off. "Right. Yeah, I remember. Of course. Jess, sure. How could I forget? So did you get the, uh... note I gave to Rachel? I didn't know, if you..." "Yeah. Uh huh. Yep. I got it," I replied happily, holding up the slip of paper to no one in particular. I felt nervous. My toes and fingers felt numb and my throat was dry. "Oh, ok. Great," she replied. "So, um, it's just a little dinner party. Nothing fancy. I was just thinking, uh, hey, why not send you an invite, too, ya know?" I was staring down at the note in my hand, staring at the smiley face she'd drawn, which caused me to smile in kind. "Yeah," I said. "I'd like that. Thanks. Thank you. That was, uh... very thoughtful of you." There was a muffled noise on Gayle's side of the phone, as if she were moving around. "So, ok. Well, um... Lemme think there... It starts about... Oh, I dunno, six-ish or so. But, I mean, you can show up any time you'd like." "Would six-thirty be ok?" I asked. At the front of my mind, I was thinking I'd have to make dinner for my daughter, but the truth is she could make it herself. I simply didn't want to be the first person there. I've always felt a bit awkward about that, particularly when I don't know anyone. I'd rather walk in on a crowd, than have one walk in on me. "Yeah, sure," she said. "Just so I know when to be standing at the door to meet you." We both chuckled nervously, and then I was at a loss for what to say next. And, the strange thing is, I also got the impression Gayle felt the same way. There was a second or two of silence. "So, um... casual then, right?" I asked, desperately fishing for something to fill the uncomfortable void. "Yeah," she replied. "But don't get all dolled up for me." We both chuckled again, and then I thought perhaps it best to make a graceful exit, while I still could. "Well, all right then," I said, tapping my fingers nervously on the kitchen counter. "I guess I'll see you at six-thirty." "Great. Great," she replied. "Can't wait to see you again." It was the strangest thing, but I actually giggled, when she said that, eliciting the same from her. "Ok, then, um... Well, bye. And thank you again." "All righty," she replied with what I could almost envision as a smile. "See you then. Six-thirty." I slowly hung up the phone, still nervous, but giddy all the same. As I turned around, Rachel walked into the kitchen. "Who was that?" she asked. I quickly glanced back at the phone, gesturing to it, saying, "Oh, uh... That was Gayle. I just, uh... you know, called to thank her for the invitation." Rachel nodded, and then opened a cupboard and pulled out a glass. "You goin', then?" she asked. I leaned against the counter, replying, "Um, yeah. No reason not to, ya know? Not like I'm some great social butterfly with a full schedule, huh?" Rachel poured herself some ice tea and took a sip, giving me a thumb's up, as she walked back out to the living room. That evening, I went through all of my clothes, trying to figure out what to wear. She said casual, so that's what I wanted, but not too casual. I hardly knew her, and I certainly wouldn't know anyone there, so I thought it best to go with a nice casual. I sifted through everything in my closet, finally settling on jeans and a decent blouse. Now all I had to do was wait three days – three very long days. When Thursday finally rolled around, I was a nervous wreck for most of the day, and my heart wasn't in my lessons. I tried to remain focused, but it was becoming more and more difficult with each passing hour. By 2pm, I was nearly at the end of my rope in keeping up any semblance of sanity. After being perfectly alone for the last few years, here was a chance to find company and comfort. In a few short hours, I had the chance to recapture some of what I had lost, to reenter the world of the living and be a part of life again. Things were starting to look up, if only in the form of a new friend. But even that tiny sliver of light was enough to warm my heart and soul. On Thursday afternoon, once school was out, I rushed home and quickly got dinner started for Rachel, so by the time she arrived, all she'd have to do is finish it. Then up to my bedroom, I dashed, pulling off my drab school clothes and dressed for the dinner party. While I was in the bathroom primping and styling my hair, Rachel came home. I was leaning toward the mirror, applying lipstick, when she stepped into the doorway behind me. "Gettin' ready for your big date?" she said with a smirk. I pulled the lipstick away and pressed my lips together. "Funny," I muttered. Rachel turned and walked into her bedroom. I could still see her reflection in the mirror, moving around in her room. "You know she's a dyke, don't ya?" she called. I was applying eye shadow, when she said that, and slowly stood up, staring at myself in the mirror. I hadn't even thought of that. A few seconds later, Rachel was standing in the door behind me again. "Look nice," she said. I closed my makeup kit and placed it back on the wire shelf above the sink. "Thanks," I mumbled, slipping past her and into my room. As I sat on the bed slowly tying my shoes and thinking about what Rachel had said, she walked in and leaned against my dresser. "You knew that, didn't you?" I put more effort into working my shoelaces and looked up at her. "Knew what?" I asked, feigning ignorance. "That's she's a dyke." I looked down, shaking my head, and dropped my foot to the floor, lifting the next. "Wish you wouldn't use that word," I replied with a huff. "Why not?" she chuckled. "I'm a dyke. Kate's a dyke. Gayle's a dyke. What's the big deal?" I glanced at her and she grinned. "It's an ugly word," I replied. "That's why. And, yeah, I kinda figured she wasn't exactly straight." That, of course, was a lie. But it wasn't as if I had assumed she was heterosexual, either. The fact is it never even crossed my mind. But now that it was there, now that the seed had been planted, that same unassuming mind began running rampant with questions, though one in particular was the focus: why did she invite me? Was she simply being friendly or did she have some other ulterior motive? Then I began thinking about what that ulterior motive could be. Was Gayle attracted to me? I was standing in my closet, looking for a light jacket to wear, and let my gaze fall to my husband's side. Nothing there had been touched since his death. Everything was as he left it, the day he went to the hospital to have a benign brain tumor removed. In and out in a few days was how it was supposed to go. Instead, within hours of his surgery, he had climbed out of bed to go to the bathroom, against the orders of his nurse, and made it back just in time to hit the call button, alerting the nurse's station that he needed assistance. When she got to his room, he was lying on the floor dead. A blood vessel in his brain had ruptured. Rachel and I had walked down to the hospital cafeteria to get the three of us something to eat. He wanted pizza and a Dr. Pepper. We had left him sitting up in bed, talking and lively, watching television. The surgeon had been in to check on him, saying he could probably go home in two or three days. For several months leading up to that day, I had been worried sick he was going to die, that his tumor was worse than what the doctors had said. They all assured me it was benign and that removing it was a routine procedure. And when he was sitting up in bed, laughing and talking, I was finally able to sigh in relief. I had thought my worries were over. I quickly snatched a jacket from a hanger and clicked off the light in the closet, walking out and shutting the door behind me. Rachel had gone downstairs, and I could hear the television on in the living room. "Why can't things just work out right for once," I whispered softly, as my eyes began to water. "Hey, where'd ya hide the salt?" I moped over to the bedroom door, slowly slipping my arms in my jacket. Then suddenly, Rachel appeared in front of me. "Can't find the salt," she said. While buttoning my jacket, and without looking up, I told her it was in the spice drawer. Rachel stood there for a moment watching my hands slowly work the buttons. "I think she has a girlfriend," she said softly. I raised my face and brushed the hair from my eyes. "Pardon?" Rachel stood staring at me, not smiling, but giving me an almost sympathetic expression. I had been fighting back my tears, something I'd become good at over the last few years. She shrugged. "She's probably not... you know... interested in you like that." Then she shrugged again and gave me a weak smile. "I dunno," she said. "I think she's seeing someone, but I dunno for sure. Maybe, maybe not." I returned her smile, though it was a bit forced, and followed her downstairs. I picked up my keys and purse and walked over to the door. And there I stood briefly, wondering if I should do this. Were my hopes simply going to be dashed once again? What made it seem all the worse was that I had built myself up to this point. For a second, I was almost angry with this Gayle person, someone I hardly knew, someone who, for an instant, I tried to blame for allowing me to climb to the top of the mountain only to suddenly feel a strong gust of wind trying to push me off the other side. I wanted to blame Gayle, but I couldn't. I couldn't, because I didn't know her or her motives. And worse yet, I was basing my assumptions, which is all they were, on something as benign as whom she preferred to sleep with. Still, it had been a benign something that tore my life apart before. Now the question became not what were her motives, but was I going to let this stop me? Was I willing to take a chance and let go of the flotsam I was clinging to and try for something else? Was it worth the risk? Life's a gamble, no matter how much you try to avoid it. Making this proposition even less palatable is the notion that unless you're willing to take chances, you're never going to find what you're looking for. Happiness doesn't find you. You have to create it. I turned from the front door and told Rachel I'd be home no later than 10pm. She was moving about in the kitchen and stepped into the doorway and nodded. "Ok," she said. "Have fun." That's what I decided I wanted: fun and happiness for once, and to Hell with the risks. Within fifteen minutes, I was driving into the parking lot of Gayle's condominium complex. It was nice, but large and anonymous. Rachel and I lived in an older part of town with big houses and large trees lining the streets. There was plenty of room to move around and spread out, as opposed to here, where everything and everyone was compacted into small modular habitats. There was very little in the way of personal outward trappings, expressing that unique individuals lived inside. Looking for a place to park, I was becoming more anxious. Gayle was a lesbian. She found me in the park that Saturday and struck up a conversation. She sat and we talked, and I had invited her to do so. Now she had extended an invitation to me to come to her home. Did she see me at the park that day and make some kind of conscious decision? The thought almost made me wince, to think that she was interested in me, as Rachel implied, "that way". But what if she wasn't? Just because she's a lesbian, doesn't mean she has sex on the brain around the clock. Then I thought about it. It suddenly popped into my mind: sex with another woman. I pulled into an empty parking space and turned off the car and quickly shook my head. "Ok," I mumbled. "You're reading way too much into this." I gathered up my purse and stepped out of the car. It was early September and the evening sun was casting an orange and gold hue. I gazed up at the building in front of me, looking for any sign of a dinner party in the open windows. There was one on the second floor, the curtains open, and I could see two people standing with their backs to me. A light was on inside, and they seemed to be talking. "Must be it." I took a deep breath and followed the sidewalk to the door of the building. Inside, I checked the mailboxes and found Gayle's. Then I turned, and before me was a set of steps, one leading up, the other down. Based on her condo number, and where I had seen the people standing in the window, I guessed she lived on the second floor, so I trudged up the steps. Standing inside the hallway of the second floor, I could hear music emanating from the other side of the first door to my right. It was Gayle's number on the door: #521. I glanced down at my watch and grinned. The time was almost exactly 6:30pm, with a minute to spare. It was one of those things I took a wee bit of pride in, that of being punctual. Then I looked up at the door, took a breath and exhaled, put on a smile, and knocked. Instantly the door swung open. And there was Gayle. As she opened the door, she was turned away, saying something to someone inside the room and laughing. She had a glass in one hand, it looked like wine, and I chuckled nervously, in response to her, and then she turned to me and smiled. "Hey! You made it," she said with a broad grin. Gayle stepped back, bringing the door with her. "C'mon in," she said, extending a long finger and brushing the hair from her eyes. Inside the living room were a dozen or more people. Some standing, some sitting, all of them chatting and laughing in small groups. Against one wall was a large entertainment system in an equally large wood cabinet. The television was off, but I could see the little red and green lights of the stereo flickering in time with the music it played. "Wanna take your coat off?" she asked. I turned and smiled, as Gayle stood there holding her glass in one hand and the other jammed in her back pocket. "Oh, um... Sure," I replied. I went to remove my coat, but Gayle, taking a sip of wine, shook her head and smiled. "Mm, no. C'mon," she said, gesturing for me to follow her. As we walked toward a lighted hallway, she'd let her hand land on various people we passed, eliciting a quick turn of the head and smile from them. Then their eyes would land on me, and I'd smile back, almost embarrassed. But their grins broadened, when they saw me, this stranger in their midst, perhaps an unconscious way of welcoming me into their circle. I followed Gayle down to an open door, which led into a dark room. Just outside the doorway, she reached in and flipped on a light. It could have been a bedroom, but it looked as though she used it for other purposes, numerous in fact, as there was a desk, computer, a radio, assorted books and a stationary bike. But strewn throughout the room, here and there, were other coats. Gayle said I could leave mine in there, as well. As I took it off, I could sense her looking at me. Staring at me. Watching me. And the gears in my mind started turning again. She's a lesbian, I thought quietly, and could feel myself blush. I gently laid my coat on the seat of the chair in front of the desk, and then turned to her, brushing my hands down my side. She was holding the glass of wine to her mouth, taking a sip, and smiled, when our eyes met. "You look nice," she said softly and with that same curious smile I'd seen the previous Saturday in the park. I glanced down and could feel my face burning red. "Thanks," I replied sheepishly. "Your note said casual, so I, uh..." "Want something to drink?" she asked, but in a tone that seemed livelier, as if changing the subject. I looked up and nodded. "Um... Yeah, sure." Gayle's suspicious smile faded into a more amiable expression. "C'mon," she said, nudging her head toward the door. As I followed her back into the hallway, I found myself staring at her from behind. Gayle was a few inches taller than me, and she most certainly had the figure of an athlete, perhaps more that of a dancer. Long, slender legs extending up to a small round butt. She was wearing jeans and a white, buttoned shirt with the sleeves rolled slightly up her thin forearms. And down from the back of her head cascaded her long brown hair, stopping midway between her shoulder blades. That was the first time I consciously thought of her as an attractive woman. But, of course, she was. There was no denying it. Any man in his right mind would find her attractive. I also noticed how she moved with a certain ease and grace, her limbs seeming to flow, as she walked and gestured and went about the mechanical business of being a hostess. There was a degree of finesse in her every movement, even elegance, as if choreographed and rehearsed many times over, but coming at such short notice as to be wholly an unconscious act. When she laughed, her body would gently bend like a lithe reed, slowly arcing back, her hands clasped around the glass of wine they held in front, counterbalancing her delicate movement. And then her teeth would shine, as her lips slowly receded and her jaw dropped, almost like that of a marionette, straight downward, while her eyes narrowed and brows rose high. And her smile was infectious. When Gayle smiled, so did everyone else. She kept me close to her side, as she made the rounds between friends, introducing me to all of them and actively engaging me in whatever conversations we stumbled upon or initiated, and there was nothing contrived about her performance. When she asked me what I thought about one thing or another, the sincerity of her interest was evident in her eyes, how they wrinkled at the corners and her nostrils would twitch and flare. And it was intriguing to watch her speak, as she did so not only with her voice, but her entire being, moving her body and hands and legs, gesturing and touching someone with a delicate hand. Several times, I'd feel Gayle's hand on my arm, my shoulder, my back; a soft touch, as she spoke to me or someone else. Then she'd turn to me and smile, a soothing grin. And, as the evening wore on, I slowly became more enamored by her subtle grace. After we had made an appearance at each small circle of friends, we found ourselves alone and sitting on the couch. Gayle asked if I was having a nice evening, and I couldn't help but notice how she seemed to avoid looking at me, when posing the question, as if too embarrassed to make eye contact. When I said yes, she rolled her nearly empty glass of wine between her fingers and smiled and nodded. "I'm glad," she replied, glancing at me with a smile, but quickly hid behind her glass, as she held it to her lips. My stomach fluttered and my gaze drifted down to the glass in my hands. "Can I get you some more?" she asked, with a light gesture. "I'm fine," I replied. "Gotta drive home, anyway." Gayle turned more toward me, lifting one knee onto the couch. "I'm sorry," she said, almost plaintively, resting a hand on my thigh. "I shoulda asked first, if maybe you'd like a soda or something instead of wine." "S'ok," I replied, taking my turn to hide behind my glass. Then I felt the hand on my thigh give an almost imperceptible squeeze, and then pull away. The party was slowly winding down, and soon the conversations became less animated and more demure. Gayle and I spoke quietly on the couch, sometimes giggling, sometimes leaning close and speaking in nearly a whispered tone. And the topics ranged widely and changed smoothly. Gayle knew how to live and enjoy life, expertly combing for the smallest morsels and finding joy in them, something I had long since abandoned. We discussed books and movies and songs and the people we knew and those we didn't. She told me about her mother and sister, the friends she had in high school and college, as well as those with whom she worked and those in our presence. And she listened with great intensity to my story, though never broaching the subject of my husband, something I came to assume my daughter may have already imparted to her. One by one, and sometimes in pairs, people slowly departed, stopping by to thank Gayle for inviting them and shaking my hand, taking a moment to say it was nice to meet me, to which I replied in kind. She would stand and escort them to the door, and, when she came back, she always seemed a bit sad to see them leave. When the last of the partygoers had left, Gayle came and plopped down onto the couch next to me with a long sigh. "...the one thing I've never liked," she remarked, as she leaned to the coffee table to pick up her glass. "What's that?" I asked. Gayle took a long sip. "Whenever a party ends," she replied. We sat for a moment, gazing around the now empty living room. Music was still playing on the stereo, though so low as to be nearly inaudible. A few empty cups sat about, one in the windowsill and another on an end table. Gayle inhaled deeply, and then let out another long, exasperated sigh. "Well," she said, slapping her hands to her knees and motioning to stand. "It's getting late," she said and smiled at me. I looked down at my watch and gasped. It was five after ten. "What is it?" she chuckled. "Got a curfew?" I snickered and explained how I had told Rachel I'd be home by ten. Then Gayle gestured toward the kitchen. "You can call her, if you'd like. Phone's right over there." While Gayle walked around the room cleaning up, I called my daughter to let her know I'd be home shortly. "How was it?" she asked. "Pretty nice," I replied, holding the phone close to my mouth, as I watched the hostess from the corner of my eye move deftly about, picking up one item or another. Then I told Rachel I'd be home within half an hour. When I hung up, Gayle was walking into the kitchen with the empty cups and stepped over to the trash. I stood for a moment, fidgeting with my hands and asked if there was something I could do to help. "Nah," she said. "There's not much. I can get it." Then a peculiar mood seemed to sweep down between us, something I hadn't felt in years, but when I recognized it, I felt my face turn red and blush. Gayle seemed to sense it, as well, and when she hooked her thumb over her shoulder toward the room with my coat, I smiled sheepishly and nodded. "Um... You wanna get your..." "Yeah," I stammered. "Gettin' kinda late." I followed her down the hall to the room, and she leaned inside to flip on the light. I slipped past her to get my coat, draping it over my arm, and then back down the hall we went, stopping at the front door. As I pulled the keys from my coat pocket, I could see Gayle jam her hands in the back pockets of her jeans and rock gently on her heels, as if she were nervous. When I looked up, she was staring down at the floor, pursing her lips tightly, almost as if she wanted to say something. And then my keys jingled and she looked up and smiled, brushing the hair from her face. I grinned fitfully in reply and reached for the doorknob. "I guess I should..." "Yeah," she replied quickly, nodding her head. "Can I, um... let me walk you out? That ok?" I pulled my hand away from the door and nodded with a sputter. "Oh, uh... yeah, sure." Gayle chuckled nervously and reached for the door. "Can't be too safe," she added with a tense giggle. Then she opened the door and gestured for me to go ahead of her. As I walked out into the quiet hallway, I felt as though I were on a date, back when I was a teenage girl. We walked downstairs and out to my car in the parking lot, and the entire way neither of us spoke. Honestly, I wouldn't have even known what to say. With each step, I was consciously trying not to think of Gayle as being a lesbian and how peculiar she was acting toward me. In fact, if I had to describe it accurately, it was just as I said, no different from when I was in high school and on a date with a boy who was nervous about how the evening would end. She stopped at the front of my car, while I took the last few steps to the driver's side door. Then I carefully pushed the key into the lock and looked over at her. Gayle was standing there with her arms folded tightly against her chest, her bosom hardly visible, and a broad smile on her face. But it wasn't merely a smile, a simple display of politeness, rather a grin expressing a genuine happiness within. And, when I saw it, I couldn't help but feel the same way. Warmth suddenly filled me, and my stomach fluttered at seeing her standing there like that. I blushed and looked down at the door and slowly pulled up on the handle. The door gently popped loose, and I stepped back to open it. "Well... Thanks again for inviting me," I said softly, not quite sure what more to say, but feeling as though those few words weren't nearly enough. And, when I gazed over at her, I giggled, as she stood there still wearing that precious grin for me. "Thanks for coming," she replied with a little wave of the hand. I fidgeted with my keys, smiled nervously, and, as I stepped down into the car, Gayle spoke. "Oh... Um... Hey." I quickly poked my head out the door and tried to stand. Gayle held out her hand, saying, "I was, uh..." Then she chuckled and glanced down at her feet, playfully kicking one foot, adding, "I was wondering if, uh... if you'd like to go to lunch maybe... sometime... no, uh... no big deal." And then she snarled her lip for emphasis, giving a wave of the hand for more effect. Just a routine departing question, was what she seemed to be implying. My eyes darted to the steering wheel, as my brain tried to register this sudden and unexpected request. It was beginning to feel more like a date. "I, uh... Yeah, yeah... Um... Sure, you know, yeah. That'd be fine. Sure. I'd like that." Gayle's smile returned and she shrugged, leaning from one foot to the other and asking if any particular day would work best for me. My eyes roamed the interior of the car once more, as I tried to think and make sense of all that was happening before me. Then I noticed my hands beginning to tremble. "Any... Any time would, uh..." I cleared my throat and tried to speak again. "Any time's ok... with me," I stammered. "I, uh... Did... Did you have a certain day that'd, uh... work for you?" She brushed a hand over her forehead and looked off for a moment, as if in thought. Then she slowly shook her head. "Um... No, not really. Would, uh... Would tomorrow be ok? Would that work?" My head jittered up and down. "Yeah, sure. That'd be fine. So... Should I call you?" I asked. Then I looked around the dashboard for a pen and paper to write on. When I finally found something, I turned back to Gayle, ready to take down her work number, but found that she had stepped over to the door. I looked up and blinked, as she stood there in front of me with her arms still folded. I went to place the small scrap of paper I'd found on the door to write, but saw that my hands were now visibly shaking, so I quickly pulled them down to my lap, placing the pen and paper on my thigh. I glanced up and nodded, and she gave me a number I could reach her at during the day. So it was settled. I'd call her in the morning to arrange meeting her for lunch. We then parted with a few more quick, uneasy goodbyes, and, as I pulled out, I watched as Gayle slowly trudged back inside, staring down at the sidewalk, her arms folded and wrapped tightly around her chest. And in that instant, I felt sorry for her. I could empathize with her, and it ached my heart that someone like her, so alive and wonderful, would have to return to a darkened, desolate room to be left alone. But what made a tear come to my eye was the knowledge that I was now doing the same thing, what I'd been doing for the last several years, and I did so passionately hate it. When I arrived home, I checked myself in the rearview mirror, to ensure Rachel wouldn't see that I'd been crying, and then I slowly followed the sidewalk to the front door and stepped inside. As I lay in bed, once again alone in my own dreary tomb, I rolled over, and my eyes landed on the phone sitting on the nightstand. I wanted to call her, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. In my heart, though, I knew if I did, she'd understand. So, instead, I turned away and faced the ceiling, wondering if Gayle was doing like me at that very moment, lying in bed wondering if there was any way out of this, if there was really any hope at all. Then I sighed and closed my eyes, drifting into an uneasy sleep. The next morning, I awoke feeling hung over, weak and tired, and emotionally, if not physically, exhausted. Gayle's party had been a wakeup call for me. Something had to change in my life. What I was looking for, whatever it might be, wasn't going to come find me. I had to go get it myself. As I stood in the shower with my hands behind my back, letting the warm water splash over my body, long strands of wet hair dangling around my face like a curtain, I began thinking about Gayle, thinking about how this person whom I barely knew made me feel. There was just something about her, some unknown, intangible quality I couldn't quite define. My subconscious kept trying to regurgitate her being a lesbian, but I shook it out of my head. "I'm not a lesbian," I replied softly. "And so what, if she is? That doesn't mean anything." But my mind kept dwelling on it, kept going back to her curious smile and the way she acted when we were sitting alone in her living room or standing outside by my car. My mind was working feverishly to convince me that her motives weren't as amiable as I thought, but I knew the impetus for this notion was purely conjectural. "You're jumping to conclusions," I mumbled, and turned to rinse my face. And then my subconscious slipped a thought into the light where I could see it. "She's pretty." I stopped rinsing the shampoo from my hair and let my hands slowly drift down over my mouth. Then I turned from the spray and opened my eyes, brushing the water from them. Did I just think that? My subconscious presented me with a myriad of mental images, as proof of the assertion - her smile, her slender fingers and lean legs; her flowing brown hair and the way her body moved. And then I began thinking of the details, the things I couldn't see, the things hidden under her clothes. I closed my eyes, trying to make sense of these sudden bizarre thoughts. Not once had I ever looked at another woman and admired her sexuality. And the less I attempted to thwart these thoughts, the more emboldened my subconscious became and began sending a flurry of them racing to the forefront of my mind. Standing there in the shower, I thought about Gayle and how she acted towards me. When we talked, it was as if we were connecting on an emotional and intellectual level. In short, trying to become friends. And I was genuinely interested in getting to know her, and there seemed no doubt in my mind she felt the same toward me. You can tell, when someone's faking it, when their motives are transparent. Sometimes it's overt and at others merely a gut feeling that something isn't right, but I didn't sense any duplicity in Gayle's words or actions. And what difference did it make, if she was attracted to me? Was it such an awful thing? In fact, if she were, I'd almost be forced to take it as a compliment. Over the last few years, several men had made passes at me, though I wasn't all that interested in following through. Sure, they were nice, and I was even friends with one of them, a colleague at the school where I taught, but nothing ever transpired from it. We remained friends and nothing more, and that friendship didn't seem to suffer for it. It's entirely possible to be attracted to someone, yet still maintain a purely platonic relationship with no ill effect. As I stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel off the shelf, I found myself actually becoming flattered that Gayle would be attracted to me. I smiled and giggled at the thought, as I dried myself: another woman attracted to me, of all people. The possibility had never even crossed my mind, not once in my life. I used the towel to wipe the steam away from the mirror, and, just before I started brushing my hair, I stood staring at my reflection. My wet hair hung limp around my face, stopping just above my eyes in front and below my neck in back. Red and long, my husband always like it that way. Many years before, when Rachel was very young, I came home one day from the salon with a new hairstyle, much shorter than I'd ever had it before. My husband took one look and gasped, making me promise never to cut it that short again. And that evening, as we lay in bed, he kissed me and held me close, saying I was the most beautiful woman he'd ever known. It'd been a long time since someone had said that to me. After dressing, I walked downstairs to breakfast. Rachel was sitting at the table, and we ate together. She was reading the newspaper, as usual, and asked a few questions about the dinner party at Gayle's, but otherwise it was just a routine morning. When I arrived at school, I made my way quickly to my classroom. Today I was going to give my first period students a pop quiz, something I really disliked doing, but it was a way to keep them on their toes and ensure they did the required reading. It would also afford me a good fifteen minutes to make a call to Gayle. The bell rang, and the last of the stragglers slowly made their way into the room, taking their seats. I announced there was going to be a quiz, and then came the obligatory groans of protest, but I apologized, saying it was for their own good, and promised to be holistic in my grading. Once my students were fully occupied, I quietly excused myself and quickly made my way down to the teacher's lounge, not far from my room. As I opened the door, another teacher was walking out, a cup of coffee in his hand. "Mornin', Jess." "Hey, Todd." Then I dashed over to the phone, before anyone could walk in on me. I pulled out the slip of paper with Gayle's phone number at work and dialed. "Good morning. Physical therapy. How can I direct your call?" "Um, yeah," I said softly, looking over my shoulder to make sure no one was walking into the lounge. "Is Gayle in yet? Gayle Martin." "Yes, she is. Can I tell her who's calling, please?" I sat down on the couch next to the phone and squirmed. "Uh, yeah, my name's Jess. Jessica. She's expecting my call." "Ok, I'll let her know you're on hold. Just a moment, please." But before I could thank her, that wretched music they always play came over the line. I glanced at the clock on the wall and grimaced. "C'mon," I mumbled. "Hey, Jess." Startled by those sudden words, I shot upright and grinned. "Gayle? Hey, uh... So, I, uh, don't have a lot of time here." I glanced at the clock again, then to my watch. "Ok," she said. "Yeah, a client just showed up here, so we better keep it short. Thought I'd grab the phone quick, when they told me it was you." I held the phone to my ear with both hands and felt my face turning red. "So, um..." "Ya know, you have a really pretty phone voice," she said with a chuckle. I giggled in reply, and she added, "Well, and off the phone, too. I'm just saying..." "I don't have much time," I laughed. "I gave 'em a pop quiz a few minutes ago, and they're probably done by now." Gayle laughed, saying, "Ugh. God, those sucked. Ok, what time? When and where?" "I, uh..." "Want me to come over and meet you?" she asked. My arms began trembling. "Yeah," I whispered. "Um... You know where, right?" "Uh huh. What time?" "Lemme think here," I said, closing my eyes and rubbing my fingers against my forehead. "Hurry up," she laughed. "I'm trying!" I exclaimed with a snicker. "You're making me nervous." Gayle laughed again. "Sorry," she said. "Geesh... Um, would twelve-thirty be ok? I only have a little over an hour, but if we waited till tomorrow, I'd have..." "No," she replied quickly. "Today's fine. So, ok then, I'll meet you at twelve-thirty. By the front doors?" I nodded. "Yeah, that'd work." "Ok," she said. "I'll see you in a few hours." "All right," I whispered. "Bye." "See ya then... Oh, and Jess?" "Yeah?" Gayle was quiet for a moment, and I glanced at the clock once more, but smiled. "Thanks for calling," she said. "Kinda made my morning." "You're too much," I giggled nervously, staring down at the floor. "See ya later." As I walked back to my classroom, I had bells on my toes. I felt so good, in fact, that when I got back to the room and saw all the quizzes sitting on my desk, I told my students they were off the hook. I wasn't going to grade them, to which they sighed in relief. From twelve to twelve-thirty, I had to sit in the hallway down near the cafeteria with another teacher, as we worked the hall monitor shift. No one was supposed to get by us without a written pass. Her name was Gloria and was on the verge of retiring, which I think many students wished she had opted for many years before. She could be nice enough, but she did have a tendency to be cranky and play favorites with the students. As a result, whenever one of them wanted to go to their locker during lunch, they invariably came to me, if I was sitting out there with her. When Rachel was still in high school, she told me how Gloria had a nickname with the kids. They called her "The Gestapo", because, just as how in every movie set during World War Two there was always a Gestapo agent at a train station checking papers and passports, so too did Gloria with the same fervent demeanor. "Pay-pahs, pleez," was how Rachel verbalized it, using an exaggerated German accent. I, on the other hand, was referred to as "Mother Theresa", for the mercy I tended to hand out freely to everyone with even a mediocre sob story. So, as I sat on one side of the hallway and Gloria the other, where she sat reading, I tried to wave the kids over to me, as they approached, partly to help them and partly to kill thirty minutes. At twenty after twelve, a young girl from the main office came walking down the hall. I was talking to a student, when she stopped next to me. "Mrs. Clarke, you have a visitor at the office." I glanced at my watch. "Already?" I mumbled, but with a broad smile. Gloria looked up from her book. "Yeah, go on," she said. "Only a few more minutes left." "Thanks," I replied happily and jumped up from my chair. As I made my way quickly to the office, I passed two boys walking toward Gloria. When they saw me leaving, they stopped in their tracks and frowned. "Sorry," I whispered, as I zipped past them. The main office was far on the other side of the building, so by the time I reached it, I was nearly sprinting and out of breath. But, when I turned the corner, there she was. Gayle was sitting on a bench in the hall with one leg crossed over the other, twirling her sunglasses in her hand. I came to a screeching halt, just as she turned to see what the commotion was. And, when she smiled at me, mine grew wider. Then she stood and picked up a plastic bag next to her, along with two large sodas in a cardboard holder. "Hey, there you are," she said. "Hope you don't mind. I dropped by the sub shop on the way over." I stopped in front of her, my chest heaving up and down, and continued to smile nervously. "You ok?" she asked, giving me a funny look. I nodded. "Um, yeah... I was just... just on the other side of the building, when they told me you were here," I replied, pointing back behind me. She held up the sodas and bag, saying, "So, where'd you wanna..." "Oh, uh... We can go outside, if you'd like," I said. "There's a picnic table just around the corner, kinda under a tree. It's a little shady there." I think Gayle could sense my anxiety, as one side of her mouth slowly curled. "Ok," she said, and then we turned and walked out the door. We went over to the picnic table and sat across from each other, trying to make idle chatter. "How was your morning?" she asked. I poked a straw through the top of my soda and shrugged. "Same as always," I replied, taking a long sip. "How was yours?" Gayle took a bite of her sandwich and shrugged, as well. "So-so," she muttered, holding up her hand and tilting it from side to side. From that point on, the conversation slowly built to a more affable tempo. We talked about my job and hers, what we liked to have for lunch, and the things we remembered from when we were in high school. And, the same as with our previous conversations, this one never seemed forced or contrived, and I felt her interest in me was as genuine as mine in her. Then she threw me a curve ball. Just as I took a bite, Gayle dabbed a napkin at the corners of her mouth, saying, "You look really pretty today." I stopped chewing for a second and swallowed. "Thanks," I mumbled. Then I slowly reached for my soda and cleared my throat, stuttering, "You, too." Gayle grinned, as she chewed, holding her sandwich between her hands. After that minor moment of strangeness, the conversation picked up where it left off. We were sitting there talking, having cleared away the remnants of our lunch, with nothing between us save for the half-empty cups of sodas we held, when from inside the building a bell ring. Gayle sat up and looked over my shoulder, and then gave me a dejected smile. "Guess lunch is over," she sighed. "Yeah," I replied, fidgeting with my cup. "I better get going." We stood from the table, and I followed her over to a trashcan. After she stuffed the plastic bag inside, she turned and smiled. It seemed like Gayle wanted to say something, but she hesitated, as if trying to choose her words carefully. "Well," she said softly, brushing her hands together, and then jamming them in her back pockets. "Um... Thanks for lunch." I shook my head, replying, "Oh... No, really. I mean, you bought, so I should, uh... I should thank you." She chuckled and shrugged, looking down at the sidewalk. The silence between us was quickly becoming uncomfortable for her, and me, as well. I hooked my thumb over my shoulder, saying, "I should probably get back..." Gayle nodded and looked up, giving me a smile. "Yeah," she mumbled. I wasn't quite sure what to say or do, so, just as I went to say goodbye, Gayle took a deep breath. "You know I'm a lesbian, don't you?" she asked. I swallowed hard and nodded rapidly. "Um... Yeah," I replied, still nodding. "Yeah, I knew that." Gayle's head slowly bobbed up and down, as she looked down at the sidewalk again. "I just... you know... didn't wanna make you uncomfortable," she said softly. "Some people just..." "No," I shot back, shaking my head. "No, not at all. That's fine. Really. I mean... yeah..." My words tapered off, as Gayle stood there trying to smile. "Ok," she said. Then she put her sunglasses on and smiled. "I should probably get back," she said. "Gonna be a little late, as it is." I nodded, but felt sad in how we were departing. Something didn't seem right. So, when Gayle turned to walk to her car, I called out. But before she looked to me, she quickly brought a hand to her face, as if wiping her nose, and then turned and folded her arms on her chest, slowly walking backwards. She smiled, and, when I went to speak, I suddenly wondered if she was crying. And then my heart went out to her, and I had this incredible urge to go over and hug her. I cleared my throat and grinned, asking if it was my turn to by lunch next time. Gayle chuckled and gave a short kick of her foot. "Yeah," she said with a smile, pursing her lips and nodding. I held up my hand, replying, "So... tomorrow? Same time? Same place?" Gayle chuckled again, and I saw her lips quiver. "Same bat channel," she said with a wavering smile. Even from twenty feet away, I could see she was fighting back the tears. She gave me a quick little wave and turned to walk over to her car. "Hey, Gayle," I called, biting my lower lip. She was pulling her keys from her pocket and turned to me, just as she got to her car. My words stammered, as they came out, but I looked at her saying, "Thanks... And... And I really, uh... I really like you." Her torso jerked slightly, as she chuckled and gave me a wave. She stepped into her car, and I stood there watching, as she backed out, and, when she pulled away, she waved once more. I turned and walked back inside the building. If I'd known how, I would have jumped into the air and clicked my heels together. That evening, I was on cloud nine. I was happy and excited and full of energy. Over dinner, Rachel asked what got into me all of a sudden, and I told her. I told her how Gayle and I were becoming fast friends, how much I enjoyed her company, and how I felt as though this was going to be a turning point in my life. I waited for Rachel to make some sarcastic remark, but all she did was smile and nod. "Sounds like fun," she said, as she helped me wash dishes. "I always thought she was kind of a cool chick." A cool chick: I liked the sound of that. Gayle was definitely very cool. Around 9:30pm, I was sitting in my room with the door closed, changing for bed. I tried to make it a habit of going to bed no later than 10:30pm, but that night, I was very tired, probably from mentally wearing myself out all day. So, as I crawled under the covers, I reached for my book on the nightstand and glanced at the phone. I thought about it for a moment, giggled, and picked up the phone and dialed Gayle's number. But when I held the phone to my ear, there was no dial tone, no ringing. "Now that's odd," I mumbled, holding the phone away from my ear and staring at it. I poked at the keypad and could hear the familiar beeps, but then I heard a voice, too. I brought the phone back to my ear, furling my eyebrows at this perplexing situation. "Hello?" I mumbled. "Jess?" I held the phone out slightly and gave it a strange look. "Gayle?" She laughed. "What're ya doin'?" she asked. "Were you just banging on the phone?" "Is... Is that you? This is Gayle, right?" She laughed out loud and said yes. I chuckled, replying, "Wow... totally bizarre. I just picked up the phone and was dialing your number, but there was no dial tone or anything. Did you call or something?" "Yeah," she laughed. "It was weird. The phone didn't ring on your side. Nothing. I dialed your number, and then suddenly I hear this weird beeping noise, and then your voice going, 'Wull now, ain't that odd?'" And she uttered those last few words in a dopey, exaggerated manner. "Oh, ha ha," I replied dryly, propping a pillow up behind me so I could lean back against it. "So what'd ya want?" she asked in a very accusatory manner. "Me?" I exclaimed, holding a hand to my chest. "You called me first." "All right," she replied. She was quiet for a moment, and I grinned. "Well?" I asked, in my best motherly tone. "Gimme a second!" she laughed. "I'm tryin' to think of an answer." I was about to speak, when she said, "I dunno... Just wondered what you were doing." My heart twittered, and I stretched my legs out under the blankets, replying, "Um... Just got into bed, actually. I was gonna read for a while." "So why were you gonna call me?" she asked. "I didn't," I replied with a quick smirk. "No," she said. "But you were going to." "Yeah." "Uh huh... and?" "And what?" I snickered. "And why were you going to call me?" I bit my lip and smiled. "I forgot," I replied. Gayle sighed into the phone. "Oh brother," she said. But that was a good question: why was I going to call her? I sat up and closed my book, placing it back on the nightstand. "What'd you want me to get for lunch tomorrow?" I asked, turning to my side and satisfied with my speedy and clever answer to her question. For the next hour, Gayle and I chatted, sometimes laughing and sometimes speaking in almost a whisper. I had turned off my light and lay in the dark talking to her, curled up in my blanket. "You sound tired," she said. I yawned, holding a hand over my mouth. "Yeah," I whispered, closing my eyes. "Want me to let you go?" "Not really," I giggled. "It's almost eleven," she said. "You got school in the morning." "I know," I sighed dreamily. "I just like talking to you." Gayle was quiet for a moment, and then I heard her soft voice. "I like talking to you, too," she replied. I smiled, in my state of semi-consciousness. "Good," I whispered. "I'm gonna hang up now, all right? You need to get some sleep. I'll see you at lunch, ok?" "Ok," I whispered. But before she hung up, I said her name. "What?" she whispered. "Thanks," I mumbled. There was a second or two of silence, and then she said, "You're welcome, Jessie. Night." "Night..." The next morning, I awoke feeling wonderful, better than I ever had in so many long years. I was tired, but it was a good kind of tried, if that makes sense. My body was slow to rouse, but my mind was ready to begin a new day. I showered quickly and told Rachel she was on her own for breakfast, as I busied myself making sandwiches for Gayle and myself. My daughter stood at the kitchen counter, reaching for a bowl in the cupboard. "You gonna eat all that?" she asked, using a spoon to point to the sandwiches in front of me. I chuckled, replying, "Nope. One's for me and one's for Gayle." "Ah." Then I wrapped the sandwiches in plastic and carefully placed them in a small cooler with a bag of chips and carrot sticks. As with the day before, the morning seemed to drag on. But finally, at long last, twelve-thirty rolled around and I dashed down to the main office with our lunch. I nearly skidded around the corner, and there she was, just as the day before, sitting on the bench outside the office. We grinned wide at each other, and then Gayle led me outside to our picnic table. We sat and talked, our food being merely a hindrance to the conversation. And, as usual, we laughed and whispered and laughed some more. And, when it came time to part, I asked Gayle if she wanted to go shopping with me after work. She stood there twirling her sunglasses, scratching her chin and staring up at the sky, as if putting heavy thought into it. "Oh, c'mon," I said, giving her a poke in the stomach. "It'll be fun." She winced, as my finger poked her, and she quickly pulled away. "All right," she laughed. "But no more belly poking." "Can't promise you that," I chuckled in reply with a shake of my finger. Gayle and I then exchanged email addresses, so we could arrange a time and place to meet, in order to go shopping, before parting ways for the remainder of the afternoon. Very quickly, I was finding that to be a difficult thing to do with Gayle: saying goodbye. It seemed like no matter how it was done or worded, it didn't seem right. Several times now, I found myself wanting to shake her hand, but that seemed terribly formal for someone like her, as well as taking into consideration the nature of our burgeoning friendship. Still, as time went on, I wanted to touch her. Not in a lurid, sexual manner, but just a gentle touch of my hand, making a physical connection with her. I wanted to know what it was like to hold and be held, to feel a physical closeness and the accompanying phrenic bliss of knowing someone cared about you. In Gayle, I was beginning to feel this about her, both for her and in how she treated me likewise. That evening, as I drove to her condominium, it did cross my mind once more that she was a lesbian, though I shrugged it off. But it was still in my mind, nevertheless. I knew she was and didn't care. At least, I consciously told myself I didn't. Deep down, however, down in my heart, I was beginning to develop feelings for Gayle. Not romantic or sexual, but not quite platonic, either. Somewhere in between were where those feelings and emotions hovered, probably as a result of being without both for so long and my heart not knowing quite what to make of the situation, finding itself in a dilemma and not knowing which way to go. It would sort itself out in the end, I reasoned. In the meantime, I didn't care. I was happy again and that's all that mattered. Gayle and I walked throughout the mall, from one shop to the next, sometimes stopping to try on various clothes. At one store, as I stood in front of a mirror wearing a blouse, she came up from behind, placing her hand against my back. "Looks really nice," she said, smiling warmly at my reflection. Then I felt her hand gently rubbing against me, and I blushed and grinned. "Thanks," I mumbled. My reaction must have been an unconscious signal to her, as from that point on, not always, but every now and then, Gayle would touch me; a hand on my back, my arm, my thigh as we sat next to each other and laughed about something. Had I been married or even dating someone else, I'm sure I would have thought it strange for her to do these things, after only knowing each other for a few days. But neither of these applied to me, so I simply enjoyed whatever she had to offer. Even an ephemeral, glancing touch of her hand was enough to fill my heart with joy. For the next several weeks, Gayle and I tried to meet for lunch, as often as we could. Sometimes our schedules didn't match, but most of the time, we were able to still find time to talk, either by way of the phone late at night or email during the day. And, with each passing day, with each conversation and email message I received from her, I wanted to be with her even more. Whenever the phone rang, I instantly dashed over and snatched it up, hoping to hear her voice. Likewise, whenever I checked my email in the morning at school, I was overjoyed to find a message from her, sometimes nothing more than to wish me a good day and other times it could be a link to an interesting story or website she thought I might enjoy. Invariably, her guess was always right, and this made me feel even better about how our relationship was blossoming. Gayle wasn't simply taking a stab in the dark, hoping I'd be impressed with some arbitrary conversation piece, like throwing darts at a target and praying you hit the bull's-eye. She had made a concerted effort to get to know me, and this was her way of propagating and grooming our relationship. Her email and phone calls weren't hollow gestures on her part. She actively engaged me in conversation about any number of topics, as I did with her. And the more information we exchanged, the better we came to know and understand one another, and the more we wanted to know and understand. It had been nearly two months since I first met Gayle in the park, when she invited me over for dinner one evening. By now, we had become very close friends, and I felt comfortable being around her and discussing even personal details of my life that I normally wouldn't share with anyone other than my husband. So, that evening, we talked. Music was playing softly on the stereo in the living room, and the lights out there were turned down low, while we sat in the kitchen at the table. As Gayle ate, she set down her fork and picked up her napkin, wiping the corners of her mouth. "Can I ask you something?" she said, reaching for her glass. I sat back and nodded, taking my own napkin and dabbing my lips. "Mm hm," I replied with a smile. Gayle pushed her chair back and reached for my plate. "Done?" she asked. "Oh, yeah," I replied, holding my hands back, as she picked it up along with her own. "Very good," I added. "Thank you." Gayle grinned and carried our plates to the sink and rinsed them off. Then she placed them in the dishwasher and walked back to the table. She picked up her glass and nudged her head toward the living room, gesturing for me to follow. We sat on the couch and were quiet for a moment, and then I spoke. "So, what were you gonna ask me?" Gayle was taking a sip from her glass, and then held it in both hands, looking down with just the hint of a smile on her face. She crossed one leg over her knee, rolling the glass between her slender fingers. "It's sorta personal," she said softly. I glanced down at my glass and shrugged. "S'ok," I replied. "You can ask whatever you want." She took a sip, and looked at me from the corner of her eye. "All right," she said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Are you..." But then she paused and hesitated a second, and then turned to me saying, "Why aren't you dating anyone?" I was still staring down at my glass and slowly nodded my head. "Yeah," I sighed. "I guess that's sort of a good question." Gayle slowly turned her body so she was facing me and rested her arm on the back of the couch. "I dunno," I mumbled. Then I felt her hand on my shoulder. "I'm not trying to pry into your personal life," she said. I quickly glanced at her, and then back down to the glass in my hands. "No," I replied, slowly shaking my head. "I know. It's ok." Then I sighed again. "I dunno," I said, turning to face her. "It's... I dunno... It's been so long. I never thought I'd find myself dating again, after I got married. It's just... Where do you start? How? How do you find the right person? I mean..." My voice tapered off and, when I looked up, she smiled. "I dunno where to start," I whispered. "Well," she replied, taking a drink, as she leaned back. "Whadda you want?" she asked. "What're you looking for?" I sighed and pulled my legs onto the couch, crossing them, as I faced her. "I dunno," I replied. "I'm not really sure." Gayle was about to speak, when I quickly added, "Someone to be with." I looked to her for a reaction, and she slowly nodded and turned her eyes down to the empty space between us. "Yeah," she replied softly. "Me, too." There was a long silence, and Gayle leaned forward to the coffee table, carefully placing her glass on it. Then she sat back slightly, resting her elbows on her knees, and clasped her hands together. I had told her all about what had happened with my husband. I told her how it tore me apart, how it destroyed my life, and how empty inside it made me feel. I explained in great depth and detail, crying as she put her arm around me, how desperately alone I felt every day of my life, how hopeless, even meaningless my existence seemed to be, even in light of still having my daughter at my side. Rachel would eventually leave our home and start a family of her own some day, signifying the end of all that was left of mine. No longer would I be a member sitting at the center table of my primary family, but relegated to being yet one more visiting relative from out of town. When my daughter left home for good, I'd be on my own and the thought terrified me. So, as I sat there with Gayle on her couch, she told me her story. She was still looking down at her hands, when she reached up and brushed the hair from her face, hooking it over her ear. Then she glanced in my direction, giving me a weak smile. "I've never told anyone this," she said. "But... I was married, too... a long time ago." Then she looked at me again, as if embarrassed, adding, "To a guy." She reached for her glass and took a sip. "When I was seventeen, my step-father tried to rape me. I guess my mom told him about me... how I was a lesbian... thought I was, anyway. So... She was at work one night, and he was getting drunk, as usual..." It seemed like this was difficult for her to talk about, so I leaned closer, placing my hand on her shoulder. "Gayle," I whispered. "You don't have to..." But she held up her hand in protest. "No," she said, wagging her head. "You were honest with me, so... just lemme be honest with you." She turned her head slightly, and I slowly nodded. "Ok," I said, rubbing her back. Gayle took a deep breath and sighed. "So, ya know... that was his thing... When my mom was gone, he'd get drunk, and he'd always sorta... I dunno... like, try to come onto me, ya know? I dunno why I never told her though. I guess maybe I thought she probably felt like you did, when your..." She paused and wiped her nose and glanced at me. Gayle's eyes were red, but I tried to smile for both of us. "S'ok," I replied. "I know what you mean." Then she leaned back against the couch, and I scooted closer, holding her hand in mine. "So... I guess she must've told him about me or something, because the next thing I know, he comes into my room asking me if I was a dyke. And I could smell the alcohol on him, too. I mean, most of the time, he just sat downstairs and drank until he passed out. The only time he'd say something to me, ya know, some sorta comment about my tits or ass, was when he was drunk, but this was different. I mean, I knew this was not good, him being in my room and all." Gayle swiped the palm of her hand under her eyes and took another sip from her glass. "Anyway... so, he comes in my room and shuts the door, and he keeps asking me if I'm a dyke. I was really fucking scared. Any other time, I'd just blow off his comments, but he was acting really aggressive, ya know? So... I tried to run for my door, but there he is standing in my way, so I had to go around him, and when I did, he grabs my arm and drags me over to the bed. I mean, shit, next thing I know, this asshole is trying to rip my clothes off, and he's just rambling on and on, and I couldn't make sense of any of it, but, fuck, you know, I knew what he was trying to do to me." I could see tears running down Gayle's cheeks, and I reached up and wiped them away with my thumb. She chuckled and said thanks, and then turned to me saying, "Wanna know what I did next?" Her smile is infectious, but I tried not to let it affect me, given the serious nature of our conversation. I nodded, though, trying to suppress the urge to grin with her. Gayle rotated her body on the couch, pulling one leg up, so she was facing me. "Remember those one pens," she said. "The kind that had those weird little... God, what were those called? You know what I mean. They had those things at the top of 'em." She looked to me for an answer, but all I could do was shrug. "Oh, you know," she said, pushing on my knee. "They had the really hairy things at the top of the pen, and when you spun it back and forth in your hand, the hair would frizz out. Remember those?" I thought about it for a second, and then my eyes shot open. "Oh, yeah," I exclaimed. "Ok, yeah. I remember those. God, I'm sure I had one." Gayle chuckled, saying, "Well, I mean, yeah. Who didn't?" Then I reached over to the coffee table and picked up the napkin my glass sat on, handing it to her. "Thanks," she mumbled, as she folded it and wiped her red nose. "So, yeah, I stabbed him in the chest with one of those thingamajig pens." I stared at her and blinked. "Did he...?" But she shook her head and coughed with a laugh. "No," she replied, still chuckling. "I guess those weren't designed to be used as personal defense weapons. Plus he had a pretty thick layer of blubber protecting his evil black heart, so that probably kept him alive, too." We both grinned, as I took her hand in mine again. She turned her eyes up, trying to suppress her tears, and very quietly thanked me. Then she let out a long breath and fiddled with the napkin in her hand. "So, anyway, I guess it sorta distracted him long enough so I could make my escape. I just went over to a friend's apartment... this guy I knew. He was a trucker, but not one of those, uh, what do ya call 'em? Long-haul guys. He was just some guy I met at a bar... He and one of his friends played pool with me and one of mine, so it was no big deal. "But, anyway, I sorta moved in with him, and, I dunno... I mean, I liked him and all. He was cool. But I kept thinking, ya know, this is what it's gonna be like for me from now on. People are gonna look at me and say, 'Hey, there's the dyke. Let's get 'er.' I mean, here we are in the new millennium and we're maybe a little more civilized and all, but you know, back then..." I nodded and squeezed her hand. "Yeah," I replied. Gayle shrugged and took another swipe at her nose with the napkin, saying, "So, yeah, I lived with him until I graduated a few months later, and, you know... then we got married." She took a deep breath and raised her chin, looking me straight in the face. I stared back at her for a moment, not sure what to say, and then asked what happened. Gayle glanced down at the napkin she held and shrugged, as her lips quivered nervously. "I'm a lesbian," she replied. I gave her hand a gentle squeeze, and she turned her eyes up to me, her face contorted and red, as she tried not to cry. "I gave it a shot, ya know?" she whimpered. "I thought, I dunno... Like, maybe it was just some sorta phase I'd grow out of, but I didn't. And every time we had sex, and I mean every single time, I was just sickened by it, ya know? Total turn-off for me." Gayle wiped her nose, and then glanced up at me saying, "So... yeah, I had an affair. God, you know, I really did try to give it a fair shot, but... I swear, every time I saw him naked, ya know? Every time he put it inside me, I just wanted to throw up. But it's not like I didn't like him. I mean, Hell, ya know, I even sorta loved him a little, but..." She sat there slowly shaking her head. "I just couldn't do it any more. I wasn't happy. So then I started seeing this other woman, you know? This lesbian, but the sad thing was, what really opened my eyes was, she was married to a guy, ya know? Just like me, and she was just fucking miserable. So I was like, hey, ya know, let's just run away together, but she said no. "She had kids with this guy, and she didn't wanna leave 'em. I mean, yeah, I guess I can understand it, but... to feel like shit every day of your life and know there's nothing you can do about it... So that's why she told me, don't do it. Don't stay with this guy, if you're not completely happy with where your life is going with him, because sure as shit, the longer you stay, the harder it'll be to leave." Gayle reached over to the coffee table for her glass and took a sip, and then held it between her hands in her lap. "So how did you do it?" I whispered. "Did you tell him? Or..." She nodded quickly. "Yeah," she said. "I had to, ya know? Like I said, I did sorta love him a little, but it wasn't that romantic kinda love. It was more like a friend thing. I mean, yeah, I felt like shit for doing it to him, but what else could I do? I didn't wanna turn out like her, ya know?" She sat there slowly shaking her head. "Life's too fucking short for that," she muttered. Then Gayle took her fingers and reached up to her ears, hooking her hair back over them and giving me a sad, exasperated expression. "I don't wanna be in a serious relationship like that with someone, if I can't love 'em as much as I should," she said softly. And as she stared at me, looking right into my eyes, she added, "I wanna fall in love with someone. That's what I'm looking for. That's what I want." Then an almost imperceptive curl quickly reached out to the ends of her lips. I swallowed and let my eyes fall down to my hands. "Whadda you want?" she whispered. I thought about it for a moment, and then took a deep breath. "What I really want," I replied. "Is for someone to hold me again. But... what I don't want is for someone to replace him... but... maybe to do all the things he use to do... for me... make me feel the way he made me feel." I turned my eyes to her and she bobbed her head up and down in silent agreement. There was a long period of silence between us, when she finally cleared her throat saying, "Wanna dance?" Startled, I slowly raised my eyes and found her smiling from ear to ear. She nudged her head toward the middle of the room. "C'mon," she said, wiggling her eyebrows. I chuckled, replying with a long sigh, "Oh God..." Gayle poked at my shoulder. "Oh, c'mon," she said with a laugh. "It's not like I bite or anything. It'll be fun." But before I could say anything more, she leapt from the couch over to the stereo. "Here," she said, jabbing a finger at the buttons. "I'll put on something fun." I sat watching from the couch, giggling nervously, but once more awed by how she could make me feel so good with so little effort. Then she glanced over her shoulder and held up a CD case. "A little Jerry Lee, perhaps?" she said, with a mischievous grin. Then she turned back to the stereo, touched a button, and the room suddenly reverberated with a lively piano melody from the fifties. I sat on the couch shaking my head, as Gayle's body slowly started undulating with the music, swinging her hips from side to side and bending down slightly at the knees. She turned and wiggled her fingers for me to come to her. I laughed, as I watched, a little embarrassed, but suddenly feeling very cheerful and upbeat. Gayle had a knack for making me smile, whenever I was feeling down. She stepped over to the couch and reached down for my hands, pulling me to my feet and to the center of the room. And, after a few minutes, I finally let my inhibitions down and together we danced about, as we held hands, twirling around and under each other's arms, and swinging to and fro, laughing the entire time. As the evening wore on, the whole of my thoughts centered on Gayle and how fortunate I was to have found such a profoundly beautiful and extraordinary person. Not since my husband, had anyone made me feel so very much alive and gratefully so. Exhausted, we finally dropped to the couch, having worn ourselves out. But it felt good all the same, though mostly in knowing that I was with someone who knew how to make me feel good and brighten my spirits. So we sat next to each other on the couch, talking and giggling and drinking sodas, and then I leaned against her and sighed. "You're good to me," I chuckled softly, rubbing my nose against her shoulder. Gayle pulled back, replying with a snicker, "Are you wiping your grubby nose on me?" I laughed, and she flung her arm around me, as we sat back. Then something startling happened, though I knew it wasn't intentional on her part. When Gayle put her arm around me, her hand hung limp over my shoulder with her fingers dangling just atop the upper half of my breast. An alert shot out across my mind, trying to signal the awkwardness of the situation, but it was quickly stifled. I didn't see the harm, and, to be honest, it didn't bother me. Instead, I reached up with my hand and placed it atop hers, pressing her fingers against my chest. And then we sat there in her quiet living room for a long time listening to the soft music, as I leaned against her and she held me close, neither of us saying a word, as nothing needed to be said. After a while, when the lateness of the hour seemed to slip past us, I stood in her door about to leave, and turned to her and smiled, taking her hand in mine. "Thanks," I said. Gayle playfully swung our hands back and forth and grinned in reply. "No problem," she said. I was about to walk away, but stopped and turned to her once again. We stood smiling nervously at each other for a moment, and then I carefully stepped toward her, too embarrassed to look her in the face, and held out my arms, attempting an ungainly hug. Gayle chuckled and wiped the back of her hand under her nose, as if timid about this, too, but put her arms around me all the same. And with my face resting just below her neck, I could feel the warmth of her breath against my head and the sweet smell of her skin, as the faint beating of her heart was barely discernable to my ear. Then I closed my eyes. "Thank you," I whispered. Gayle hugged me closer and kissed my head, rubbing her hand on my back. "You're welcome," she replied softly. And when we finally parted, I felt my face burning red, but looked up and saw Gayle quickly running the palm of her hand under her eyes, trying to brush away the tears before I could notice them. "Sorry," she chuckled. I fished the keys from my pocket, and smiled to myself, as I fidgeted with them in my hands. "Are you free tomorrow night?" I whispered. "Yeah," she replied, extending a hand to my forearm and gently caressing it. I glanced up and smiled, and Gayle was pulling her hand from her face again. She rolled her eyes to the ceiling, as if embarrassed, and tried to smile, but her lower lip betrayed her thoughts, as it quivered slightly. I asked if she'd like to have dinner with me at my place the following evening, seeing as how it was Friday and Rachel would be working. "Ok," she whispered, trying to smile, as she fought back her tears. Before I walked away, I stepped up and planted a gentle kiss on her cheek. "See you then," I said, patting her arm. As I walked down the hallway, I heard Gayle call out to me. I turned and saw her staring at the floor, both her hands braced in the doorway. "Thanks, Jessie," she muttered, trying to smile, as two thin silvery lines rolled down her cheeks. "I'll call you, ok?" "Ok," she replied, and slowly stepped inside the door. By the time I got to the car, I was in tears myself. When I arrived home, Rachel was already in bed. I hung my coat in the hall closet and quietly slipped upstairs to my room. Inside, I carefully closed the door and walked over to my dresser. And, as I undressed, I found myself staring at the few pictures of my husband pressed under the frame of the mirror on the dresser. I pulled my sweater over my head and gazed at his static image, trying to remember all the times I'd walked into this very room late at night to find him sitting up in bed reading, waiting for me to join him. It was so long ago now, that it felt more like an ephemeral dream, than a reality that had once been a tangible part of my life. One day he was sitting up and laughing and talking, and then suddenly he was gone, leaving a gaping wound in my existence. What remained now was a deep scar, a constant reminder of what I had, but lost. Staring into the mirror, I saw the phone behind me on the nightstand. My heart began racing, as I turned and stepped around the bed, stopping in front of the phone. I reached down with a trembling hand, but stopped short of picking it up. I sat on the edge of the bed, clasping my hands in my lap, and closed my eyes. "Please let me do the right thing," I mumbled. Then I slowly opened my eyes and reached for the phone. I dialed Gayle's number and took a deep breath. With each ring, I felt the perspiration building on my head and neck. Then I heard her soft voice. "Hello?" "Hey..." I could hear her moving around. "Did I wake you?" I asked. "No," she whispered. I closed my eyes and took another deep breath. "Can I tell you something?" Gayle was quiet for a moment, and then said yes. I wrapped my hand around the cord and sucked in deeply through my nose. "Don't say anything, after I say this, ok?" I whispered. "All right," she replied. "Just... Just say goodnight, ok?" "Ok," she said softly. I clenched my fist tightly and closed my eyes hard, my body trembling from head to toe. "You're my best friend, Gayle," I whispered, as my heart began pounding in my chest, and I was sure she could hear it. "...and I love you very much." Suddenly, I felt my entire being relax, after unloading that heavy weight. Gayle was quiet for a few moments, and, just as I was about to kick myself and try to find a way to apologize, I heard her say in a whimpering voice, "Goodnight, sweet Jessie." And then she hung up. I slowly set the phone down, stood from the bed, and trudged over to the closet and cried. The next morning, as I walked into the school, I passed another teacher walking out of the main office. "Mornin', Jess." "Hey, Lyle." I hadn't taken five steps, when he called to me again. I stopped and turned, and he said there was something for me in the main office. I furled my eyebrows, asking if he knew what it was. Lyle sipped his coffee and shrugged. "Just a letter, I think," he replied, as he walked toward me on his way to his classroom. "Some woman dropped it off, just before you got here," he added, as he strode by. My eyes went wide, and I asked if she had long brown hair. He was still walking away and held up his hands. "Dunno," he said. "That's just what Diane told me." I turned and walked quickly back to the office. Inside, the principal's secretary, Diane, was pushing fliers and memos into the teachers' mailboxes. She was a portly woman, middle-aged and cheerful, and had a son in my class, a junior, and one of the better students I had. She glanced at me and smiled, as I stepped around her to get to my mailbox. "Good morning," she said with a wide smile. "Hey," I huffed impatiently, as I snatched the papers from my box. I walked over to the counter and quickly thumbed through the short stack of papers. From the corner of my eye, I could see Diane look over her shoulder. "Looking for something?" she asked. I nodded, growing antsier, as I didn't find the letter. "Yeah," I muttered under my breath. Diane ambled around the counter and over to her desk. "Hey," I said. "Lyle just told me someone dropped a letter off for me this..." And then I watched, as Diane reached down to her desk and held up a small, light blue envelope. "This?" she asked with a grin, as she stepped over to me. As Diane handed it to me, I saw Gayle's eloquent handwriting on the front. There was only one word on it: "Jessie". Diane leaned against the counter, resting her forearms on it, and pointed a finger at the envelope. "You know her?" she asked. Still gazing at the letter in my hand, I smiled and nodded. It wasn't a regular envelope, but more the type used to hold a card. My mind was racing, as I wondered what it could be. A thank you card? But then my smile faded, as I thought back to our brief phone conversation the night before. Was this her way of saying thanks, but no thanks? All the blood in my body seemed to sink to my feet, and I felt myself go numb. "Yeah," I mumbled softly. "I know her." When Diane didn't say anything, I looked up and she tried to smile. "Why?" I asked. Diane glanced at the door to the office, and then back to me, picking at her fingers. "Is her name Gayle Martin?" she asked. I swallowed and nodded, wondering how she knew. Then the gears in my head started turning. Gayle's husband had been a truck driver, and Diane's husband owned a small trucking company. "Yeah," I squeaked nervously. "That's her." Diane laid her hands flat on the countertop and looked at me with a sigh. "It's really none of my business, Jess," she said. "What?" "Her," she replied. "What about her?" Diane took a deep breath and looked at the door again. "She was married to my brother," she said in a low voice. Just as I felt a sense of relief sweep over me, grateful that she didn't say an angry woman had stormed in that morning and threw this letter at her, anxiety set in once more, as I began to realize that Diane probably knew about Gayle being a lesbian, and I'm sure she'd seen us meet outside the office for lunch over the last few months. And now she'd stopped by to deliver a card to me, though the contents therein remained a mystery. Still, I had no doubt, if Diane knew Gayle, she also knew she was a lesbian, and it probably didn't take a great leap of logic to figure out that Gayle and I had become close friends. The absolute last thing I wanted was for people to be talking about me behind my back, spreading rumors and God knows what else. Diane looked at me for a moment, and then down to her hands. "So... she and your brother?" I muttered. She nodded slowly. "They were married for less than a year," she said. Then she sighed, saying, "I don't know the exact reasons why they separated, but I have a pretty good idea." Her eyes drifted to mine, and then her expression turned to one of warm sympathy. "All I'm saying is..." Then suddenly, the door to the office opened and in walked the principal. Diane and I stood upright a bit more, and she raised her hand and smiled at him, as did I. He replied with a friendly wave, and then stepped into his office and shut the door. Diane turned back to me and leaned closer, laying her hand flat out on the counter toward me, and whispered. "Look, Jess, all I'm saying is, as your friend, just be careful, ok?" I nodded quickly. "I will," I whispered nervously. Diane looked over her shoulder, and then turned me saying, "It's none of my business, but I sorta think maybe covering your back is, ok?" I nodded again. "I'm not saying she's a horrible, bad person. I'm sure she isn't. But she really broke his heart, when he found out she was, you know..." And then Diane cleared her throat, as if embarrassed to say it. Her eyes darted to mine, and I slowly nodded. She took a step closer in my direction, whispering, "Jess, she has a tendency to sleep around, ok? At least, back then she did." Then she placed her hand against her chest, saying, "But that was, what, fifteen years ago maybe? Maybe a little longer. And I don't mean she did it with other men, ok? She had an affair with another woman. A married woman." I fidgeted where I stood and glanced down at the envelope I held. "Yeah," I replied. "She told me about it." Diane's smile returned, and she stood up with her hands flat on the countertop. "Like I said," she continued. "I'm just trying to give you some friendly info. It's none of my business, and, hey, maybe she's turned over a new leaf. Besides, I mean, I always thought she was a pretty nice person, and I was really surprised, when she left him. Honestly, I never woulda guessed she was..." "Yeah," I said, cutting her off. "She's a lesbian." Diane slid her hand to mine and patted it softly. "That's all I wanted to tell you," she whispered with a smile. I slowly bobbed my head and thanked her, and then asked if she knew anything else about Gayle. "No," she replied, shaking her head ruefully. "Not really. I know she use to go to church a lot. Tried to get my brother to come with her, but he was a little too rowdy for that," she chuckled. Outside the office, there was a sudden influx of students, chattering and laughing loudly, as they entered the building. The buses had begun to roll into the parking lot. "I better get going," I said. Diane gave my hand a gentle squeeze, as I went to walk away, but then I stopped and turned back to her. "So... What's your general impression of her?" I asked. Over the years, Diane and I had become something along the lines of work-friends. We hardly ever spoke outside of school, mostly because she lived rather far away, but during the day, she and I had a slightly closer friendship. She was definitely someone I could confide in and trusted, and she always seemed to be a good judge of character. Diane was walking to her desk and raised her eyebrows, upon hearing my question. She came back to the counter, and I moved closer toward her. "You know, like I said, that was a long time ago," she replied quietly. "I liked her, but you could tell something wasn't quite right about her." Then she shook her head, adding, "Not, like, mentally or anything. More like she was always depressed. I just never saw her smile much, you know? I guess I'd say she was a good, decent person. Kinda quiet, but, like I said, she just seemed really sad, to me." "You think she recognized you?" I asked. Diane chuckled, her heavy chest wobbling. "Oh, I doubt it," she replied with a laugh. "I use to be really skinny back then, if you can believe that." I smiled, trying to imagine Diane as anything but this large, happy person. Then she shook her head. "Nah," she said. "I don't think she did. My hair was longer, my butt thinner... I looked a lot different. She didn't act like she knew me, when she stopped by this morning." "How did she seem?" I asked anxiously. Diane shrugged and curled her lip. "Seemed ok," she replied. Then she looked at me and seemed to sense I needed a more detailed answer. She stepped closer and leaned toward me against the counter, clasping her hands together. "I think she was happy," she said. "She was smiling." I grinned wide and so did Diane. "Thanks," I replied, as I tapped my fingers on the counter and walked to the door. "Hey, Jess." My hand was on the doorknob, and I turned to Diane, as she walked behind her desk to sit down. "It's none of my business," she said, holding up her hand plaintively. "And no one else's... if you know what I mean." I smiled again and thanked her, as I walked out into the hallway. Students were everywhere, standing around the halls talking and laughing and crisscrossing my path, as they darted to their lockers, occasionally bumping into me. As I sped past, many would say hello and good morning, and I'd grin and nod or wave, but my body moved with singular purpose to my classroom. I had less than ten minutes to get there, before students would start their morning migration and a new school day began. My heart beat faster with each step, and by the time I swung open the door and stepped into my room, I was nearly out of breath. Two students were sitting in the back of the room talking quietly and looked over at me. I grinned sheepishly and they smiled in return, and then resumed their conversation. I made my way to my desk, pulled out the chair, and quickly sat down. I glanced at the clock on the wall: less than five minutes. With trembling hands, I plucked the envelope from my bag and held it in my lap out of view. I slowly turned it over and carefully opened the flap and gingerly reached inside with my fingers, pulling out the card within. When I flipped it over, I slapped a hand over my mouth and giggled. There on the front was an Easter bunny, painted in watercolors and holding a bright Easter basket filled with an assortment of colorful eggs. Above him was captioned, "I thought about sending you a big, beautiful basket for Easter..." Then I slowly opened the card, and inside was a line drawing of a person holding out the empty pockets of their pants, saying, "Instead, I got you this card." But there, on the inside cover, was a note hastily written by Gayle. "Sorry!" it said. "This was all I could find this morning." Further down, she wrote, "Thank you for the wonderful evening and beautiful company last night." I felt my face turning read, as I continued reading. "Please call me today, when you get the chance, and let me know when you'd like to meet for dinner." And below that, as if an afterthought, she had written, "I need to hear your voice again." My vision slowly blurred, as her words sank in. My heart raced and spine tingled, as I sat there in a daze. "I need to hear your voice again." I'm not sure how long I had been sitting there motionless, when someone coughing suddenly pulled me from my trance. I slowly raised my eyes and saw all the desks in the classroom filled, my students sitting and staring back at me, some smiling and others chuckling. I closed the card and carefully open my desk drawer, slipping it inside. During the noon hour, I called Gayle at work. But all throughout the morning, between classes, I would open my drawer and read her card over and over again. I was scared to talk to her, nervous about what she would say, and becoming riddled with anxiety about how our relationship, ostensibly a mere friendship, was quickly becoming something more. So, all morning, my thoughts dwelled on Gayle. She was kind and polite, intelligent and witty, quick to smile and share a laugh. And I also thought about what Diane had said, how she could detect a hint of peripheral sadness in Gayle. The more I thought about it, the more I saw it, as well. The evening of her dinner party, now several months past, I remembered how sad she seemed, when I left to return home. And it didn't seem as though she were depressed that the party was over, though she did imply otherwise, rather her sullen mood seemed to be caused by my departure. As time went on, and Gayle and I became closer, this same sense of somberness at parting swept over me, too, leaving my heart feeling empty and alone. Whenever I wasn't with her, I thought about her. I thought about how she brought so much joy to my life. And, more recently, I began thinking about what a beautiful woman she was, and not simply in terms of character, but physically, as well. I tried ignoring it, but the truth of the matter is, I was falling in love with Gayle and had been for a very long time. So, when I called her at noon, I was just as anxious to hear her voice. "Did you get my card?" she asked. I was sitting in the teacher's lounge on the couch, holding the phone close to my ear and nearly whispering. There were three other teachers there, but they sat at a table on the other side of the room. "Yeah," I whispered. Gayle laughed and asked why I was talking so softly. "Someone's in here with me," I whispered. She laughed again. "So?" she said. "You afraid they might see you smiling or what?" "No," I replied softly, turning to lean on the arm of the couch, away from the other teachers. "Yeah, right," she replied with a snort. Then she added with a devilish voice, "Or maybe you're just scared they might figure out who it is seeing you." I laughed, but quickly glanced over my shoulder. One of the trio turned to see what the commotion was about, but then smiled and turned away, when I grinned and waved. "That's not true at all," I mumbled. Then her words suddenly struck home: "...who it is seeing you." Seeing... That word seemed to carry a certain inference, one that could just as easily be conveyed by the word "dating". And, in a very real sense, it really did feel as though Gayle and I were dating. All the necessary ingredients were there: a few commonalities in terms of interests, likes and dislikes; we enjoyed each other's company and spent a great deal of time together. And sometimes the level by which we communicated went beyond what mere friends would normally traverse, by way of body language and tone. When we sat together, although mainly whenever we were alone, it was side-by-side, our bodies touching. There were also times when she'd lay a hand on me, giving a gentle squeeze or soft rub. All of this pointed in one direction, and, in my heart, I knew Gayle was attracted to me, as I was to her. "Are you even listening to me?" she suddenly asked. I blinked a few times and sat up straight. "Pardon?" Gayle chuckled, as I mumbled an apology. "You're too cute," she said. I smiled, and then closed my eyes. "Can I ask you something?" "Sure," she said. "Gotta make it quick, though. I should get back to work here." "Ok," I whispered. There was a brief pause, and then Gayle asked what it was I wanted to ask. I was just about to speak, when she said, "What'd you think of the card?" I glanced down at the floor and smiled, telling her I liked it. Then she explained how she had bought it for her niece, but never sent it, opting instead to actually buy her a big Easter basket filled with candy and toys. And the more she talked, the more I began to wonder, if she was trying to stall for time, trying to prevent me from asking my question. I sighed into the phone, but she cut me off again, before I could say anything. "What time you want me to come over?" she asked. I rolled my eyes, as it was obvious she didn't want me to ask my question, hoping I'd probably forget, what with her constantly changing the subject. I suppose, judging by the tone of my voice, she assumed it to be of a serious nature, but I wanted to ask it all the same. "Six o'clock," I replied. And, before she could get another word in edgewise, I asked if she liked me. My heart began pounding, as I waited for an answer. "Yeah," she whispered softly. "Of course I do. You know that... don't you?" My heart skipped a beat and my stomach fluttered. "Ok," I replied. "That's all I wanted to know." "Do you like me?" she asked quickly. I nodded slowly, saying, "Yeah." We were both silent for a few seconds, and I could hear her breathing into the phone. "Jess..." "Yeah?" There was a pause. "I don't wanna replace him," she said. I closed my eyes and gripped the arm of the couch. "I know," I replied tensely. "Thank you." "But I still wanna be there... Is that ok?" I curled my toes tightly and took a deep breath. "Yeah," I murmured. "I'd like that." Then my senses were jarred, when Gayle suddenly spoke in a louder tone, more pedestrian and breaking the otherwise sedate mood. "So, six o'clock?" she said. "Want me to stop by the store and pick up anything?" I closed my eyes again, slowly shaking my head and rubbing my fingers against my temple. "Sure," I chuckled. "Ok," she piped. "What should I get?" I dropped my hand and sighed, rolling my eyes. "Oh, I dunno," I moaned. "Whatever you want." "Chips? Dip? Pretzels? Pop? Marshmallows? Apples? Oranges? A pineapple? Some of those, uh, whaddya-call- 'em fruits... you know, they're red and hard on the outside, but squishy on the inside?" I laughed, replying, "Pomegranates?" "Yeah, that's it," she said. "Want some of those?" "You're a goof," I said with a giggle. "Ok, then," she said. "I'll grab us some wine, maybe some chips, and... a movie? Wanna rent a movie?" "Yeah, that sounds good." "Whatcha want me to get?" "Eh, I don't care. You pick." "All righty," she replied. There was another pause of silence, and then the bell rang out in the hallway. "I better get going," I said. "I'll see you around six." "Jessie?" "Yeah?" "Is it ok, if I think about you for the rest of the day?" My stomach fluttered again, and I felt myself become weak at the knees. "If... Sure, I mean, if you want," I stammered. "Yeah," she said. "I think I'd like that." "Can... Can I think of you, too?" I said, as my voice cracked. "Oh, sure," she replied very nonchalantly. "Yeah, knock yourself out. See ya at six?" "Ok," I giggled. "Bye... I'll be thinking of you." "Bye, sweetie." That may have qualified as the best phone conversation of my life. That afternoon, when I got home, I rushed about, cleaning the house, vacuuming and dusting, and then I started preparing dinner. I kept glancing at the clock, and the closer the hands got to six, the more quickly I moved. So, by the time it was six o'clock, I was breathing hard, and the ringing of the doorbell sent a jolt through me. I grabbed a dishtowel and wiped my hands, tossing it onto the kitchen counter. Before going to the door, I stopped by a mirror in the living room to check myself. Satisfied everything was in order, I stepped over to the door and opened it. Gayle stood there, wearing sunglasses, light blue blouse, and khaki pants. He teeth shone brightly, as she grinned. "Hey there," she said, holding a plastic grocery bag in one hand and bottle of wine in the other. I stepped back and invited her in, smiling from ear to ear. And, when I closed the door behind her, the first words to nearly leap from my lips were, "You look pretty." Instead, I quickly checked myself, managing to merely stutter hello. Gayle smiled and handed the bag to me. Then she removed her sunglasses, hanging them from the open collar of her blouse. My heart was thumping, as she continued to stare at me with that wonderful smile. "You look pretty," I mumbled softly, letting my eyes fall down to the floor, too embarrassed to let her see me blush. Gayle only chuckled. "You, too," she replied. "Now let's eat. I'm starving." Together, we walked into the kitchen and finished preparing dinner. We sat side-by-side at the kitchen table, eating and chatting about this and that and whatever was on our minds. And after we stuffed ourselves, we cleaned up and put the leftovers away. Then we took our glasses of wine and walked out into the living room. As Gayle sat on the couch, I went over to the television and started the movie. Then I stepped over and sat next to her, once again, side-by-side, our thighs rubbing together. A short while into the movie, Gayle set her glass on the end table and leaned back. I glanced at her, seeing her relax, and decided it wasn't a bad idea. I handed her my glass, and she placed it alongside hers, and then I leaned back to join her. We sat there with our hands in our laps, a little awkwardly it seemed, and then Gayle, perhaps sensing this, wiggled around and pulled her arm nearest me from between us, draping it behind me onto the back of the couch. It seemed an almost instinctual reaction on my part, but when that body contact was lost, I scooted closer to reclaim it, and, when I leaned back, I felt her hand behind me come to rest on my shoulder. And, as we watched the movie, every now and then I'd feel her fingers gently stroke my shoulder, until finally, she was hugging me. I leaned against her and placed one hand just above her knee, and then took a deep breath and smiled, reveling in the modest intimacy we were sharing. Although the position we were in was fine for a short period of time, after a while, the discomfort was starting to set in for both of us. Every few minutes, one of us would squirm and wiggle, trying to find a position more conducive to the long-term. I finally sat upright and reached to the far end of the sofa, grabbing the pillow there. Then I turned to Gayle and dropped it in her lap, pulled my feet up, and laid my head down on the pillow, resting on my side. She only chuckled. "Sorta wondered what you were doing," she said softly, resting her hand on me just below my breasts. I brought my lower hand up to hold the pillow and let the other rest along the upper side of my body. "You're too squirmy," I giggled. "Ah," she replied. "Of course... my fault." Then I chuckled again and pulled her hand up to my lips, placing a gentle kiss on her fingers. "You're still a good person," I laughed, returning her hand to my chest. As we continued watching the movie, Gayle would sometimes rub her hand on my abdomen, until eventually, the tips of her fingers were making contact with the underside of my breast. But it didn't bother me. The truth is, I enjoyed the physical contact, and knowing it was from her made it all the more desired. But, being mere mortals, eventually nature steps in and momentarily throws a wrench your way. Gayle's fingers were now overtly touching my breast, though gingerly, but my bladder began causing me grief. I quickly sat up and excused myself, and, as I stood, Gayle asked if I wanted her to pause the movie. When I glanced down at her, the expression on her face seemed almost apologetic, as if she were sorry for crossing some sort of physical boundary with me. But, I smiled, relieving her of any such superfluous concerns. "Sure," I replied. "Just gotta run to the bathroom." She grinned, and her face relaxed. "Ok," she said, with a nod. A few minutes later, I returned, and Gayle was sipping from her glass of wine. As I sat down next to her, I waited, as she clicked the remote control and started the movie once more. Then I resumed my previous prone position. When I laid my head down in her lap, her hand didn't return to its previous place, and I began wondering, if indeed she thought she had gone too far with her tactile contact. So, to alleviate her concerns, I lifted my head and glanced over my shoulder. "Where's your hand?" I chuckled. "Here," she replied, rather bemused and holding it up. I reached up and took it in mine. "Gimme that," I snorted and pulled it down across my torso, letting it come to rest on my lower breast, my hand atop hers. Then I pulled my chin in and gave the tips of her fingers a quick kiss. As time pushed on, in the course of getting comfortable, I let the hand I held atop hers drift away alongside my body. She kept hers in place, and soon Gayle was cautiously stroking my breast, cupping it in her hands and wrapping her fingers around it. By the time the movie ended, the hesitancy in her hand was no longer present, and Gayle was openly groping my breast, gently rubbing her hand around and occasionally giving it a soft squeeze. So, as the video rewound in the VCR, I closed my eyes and rolled slightly more toward her, affording her easier freedom of movement with her hand and silently giving approval to her pleasant ministrations. I soon felt her hand slowly move to the valley between my breasts, where her fingers plucked at the buttons. She carefully loosened one, and then, in a very tender voice, asked if it was ok for her to do so. With my eyes still closed, I smiled and nodded. Her fingers slowly loosened one, then two, and finally the top three buttons of my blouse. She parted the front of my shirt, revealing the bare skin above my breasts, and then laid her hand flat against it, taking up a smooth motion, gliding it over my skin. "That's nice," I whispered, and then carefully rolled onto my side again, while Gayle continued to slide her hand inside my open blouse. I propped my head up onto my elbow, and we continued watching television, though I'm sure her thoughts, as mine, were concentrating on the intimate physical contact we were making. When Gayle's hand moved further down my chest and cupped my breast again, I let my eyes slowly drift shut, enjoying the warmth of her gentle touch. Then I pulled my hand out from under my head, letting it rest down on the pillow. I'm not sure how long we lay like this, as my mind began to wander and drift, losing all sense of time and place. I felt her hand move to the top of my bra, and her thumb carefully eased itself under the fabric. My breathing came more deeply, and when her thumb brushed against my nipple, a tingle shot up my spine and my body shivered. "Sorry," she chuckled. "S'ok," I replied with an easy giggle. After a short time, Gayle's hand became more emboldened, and her thumb inside my bra gently pinched my erect nipple against her finger on the outside. My eyes drifted closed once more, and my jaw slowly dropped, and, what had started as subtle caressing, evolved to become conspicuous stimulation. I lay back against her, resting one hand on my stomach, and sighed, as her slender fingers manipulated my breast. Suddenly, from outside, I heard a car door close, followed by that of another. My eyes shot open, and I quickly sat up and scooted away from Gayle, as my hands frantically fumbled to close my blouse. It was nearly ten-thirty, and Rachel was home from work, and, by the sounds of it, probably had Kate with her. When the last button was closed, I reached up to straighten my hair. I glanced at Gayle, giving her a sheepish expression, but she only smiled and slowly shook her head. The front door opened, and Rachel poked her head inside. When she saw Gayle and I, she stepped in and grinned. Kate was right behind her. "Thought that was your car," she said, as she unzipped her coat. As Kate maneuvered around, she unzipped her coat, as well, and gave a somewhat startled expression, when she saw Gayle. I blushed, hoping it wasn't obvious she and I had only a minute before been intimate. For her part, though, Gayle's only reaction was to rest her head against her elbow, brushing the hair from her eyes, and give a quick little wave to Rachel and Kate. "Hey," she chirped to the two young women. Rachel slowly walked closer to the sofa, looking back at her girlfriend with a grin. "We're just gonna go upstairs and hang out," she mumbled, giving me a look of what could only be considered mild amusement. My head jittered up and down, as I cleared my throat. "Ok," replied. Then Rachel seemed to smirk and turned, bounding up the steps with Kate right behind. The latter gave us another friendly wave, and Gayle and I did the same in reply. When Rachel's door was closed, I turned my eyes to Gayle, and her head lolled around to me. "Sorry," I muttered softly. Gayle rolled her eyes and chuckled, replying, "No problem." We sat next to each other for a few minutes, and then heard Rachel's stereo come on. The lively chatter and giggling upstairs soon died down, and it very quickly became embarrassingly obvious what was likely going on up there. "Want something to drink?" I asked tensely, trying to distract Gayle from pondering it, as well. "Nah, I'm fine," she replied with a casual wave of the hand. Feeling a bit humiliated and ashamed of myself for jumping away from her so quickly, I moved closer and placed my hand on her thigh. We sat and watched television, flipping from one channel to the next. Then from upstairs came a light giggle followed by what anyone would recognize as an amorous moan. I cleared my throat and held the remote out in front of me, changing the channel. "Late night TV sorta sucks, ya know?" I stated frankly, once again trying to distract Gayle's attention. "Yep," she replied tersely. I turned to her, saying, "You ever watch..." But then another soft moan tumbled down the steps. Gayle leaned her arm against the side of the couch, resting her head against her hand, and snickered. "Watch what?" she replied, raising her eyebrows and going along with my futile game of polite ignorance. As I struggled to find my words and collect my thoughts, Gayle sat there with a knowing grin on her face. "Go on," she chuckled, twirling her hand. "I'm listening... to you, I mean." "I... Well, I was just gonna say..." Then Rachel's muffled voice overtook me. "Ow, bitch! That's my ass." Gayle's face suddenly contorted, as her eyebrows rose high, and she covered her mouth and laughed with a snort. My eyelids fluttered from embarrassment, apparently signaling Gayle to let loose entirely. She fell forward and slapped her hand on my knee, as I sat there shaking my head back and forth. "Wanna go back to your place?" I asked dryly. Gayle was still in a fit of giggles, but managed to jerk her head up and down. "Sure," she replied. I jumped from the couch, as Gayle pushed her hands against her knees, forcing her body upright. I darted to the kitchen and closed the bottle of wine, and then quickly stored into the refrigerator the left over food. When I turned to leave, Gayle was standing in the doorway with her coat on and mine draped over her forearm. I flipped off the kitchen light, and she handed me my coat. Out in the living room, I searched for pen and paper to leave Rachel a note. "Whatcha lookin' for?" "Something to write on," I huffed. I'd found a notepad, but was still looking for something to write with. "Here," she said, coming up beside me and holding out a pen. I leaned down to the end table and began quickly scribbling a note. "Ohhh my Gawd!" came yet another soft cry from Rachel's bedroom. Gayle laughed out loud, while I only shook my head, trying to finish the note. "Ok," I said, turning to toss the note onto the steps. "She'll see it there." Then I handed Gayle her pen. "Ready?" I said, but didn't wait for a reply and headed straight to the front door. As we drove to Gayle's condo, every now and again, one of us would snicker. "I'm really sorry 'bout that," I groaned, leaning my head against the window. I turned my eyes to Gayle and watched, as the amber streetlights going past alternately lit her face in the dark. She raised her fingers from the steering wheel and chuckled. "No problem," she replied with a grin, glancing at me. As we drove along in silence, it suddenly dawned on me where I was going and the lateness of the hour. I gazed over at the green glow of the digital numbers of the clock on the dashboard. It was nearly eleven o'clock. The only thing I carried with me from home were my keys. Then all the blood rushed from my face down to my feet. Was I going to spend the night with her? My mind began racing, recalling that not half an hour before, Gayle had her hand down the front of my blouse toying with my breast. My knees wobbled, and I placed my hands on them, to steady their movement. From my peripheral vision, I saw Gayle turn and glance at me. I cleared my throat and let my gaze casually drift out the side window. "There's, uh... There's some nice houses around here," I mumbled. When she didn't answer, I looked over at her. She was turning the steering wheel, directing the car into her parking lot. "Yeah," she replied. "It's a pretty nice neighborhood." I gulped, as she eased the car into an empty space and shut off the engine. Then she turned to unfasten her seatbelt. "Ready?" she said with a smile. I nodded nervously and unfastened mine. "Yeah," I squeaked. Outside the car, Gayle was standing by the front bumper waiting for me, and, as I approached, she grinned and held out her hand. "Ok if I...?" I blinked nervously, unsure if I wanted her to hold my hand. It was trembling, and I didn't want her to notice, but I didn't want to be rude, either. So, I nodded quickly and held out my hand. As we made our way down the sidewalk to her building, neither of us spoke. My eyes drifted to her building, to the windows of her condominium, and, when I saw her darkened bedroom windows, a gentle tremor coursed through my body. "Cold?" she asked. "A little," I replied softly. Then Gayle gave my hand a squeeze. We traversed the sidewalk leading to the front door, where she held it open, gesturing for me to enter. Then we slowly tromped up the steps, where she held the door for me again. We stepped to hers, and she fumbled momentarily with her keys, and then carefully opened it and stepped inside, as I followed her lead. She flipped on the living room lights, and then closed the door behind me. I heard a dull metallic clunk behind me and turned to see her locking it. "Wanna take your coat off?" she asked, as she unzipped hers. I nodded nervously. "Sure." With hers draped over her arm, she helped me with mine. "Thanks," I said softly. "Want something to drink?" she asked, walking to the closet by the kitchen. I pushed my hands into my back pockets and pursed my lips. "Umm... Yeah, that'd be fine." As she shut the closet, she glanced at me and smiled, and then turned into the kitchen. A minute later, she returned holding two cups. "Just ice tea," she said, handing one to me. "Thanks," I said, as I took a sip and tried to keep my hands preoccupied from their incessant trembling. "Wanna sit?" she asked, gesturing to the couch. I nodded, and, as I walked over to the couch, Gayle went to the stereo and turned it on. She ran her fingers over a stack of CD cases, and, when she found one in particular, she plucked it out and opened it. She tapped a button on the stereo, and a tiny tray slowly emerged. Then she gently set the disk onto it and tapped the button again. Seconds later, the room was filled with soft music, setting what was surely meant to be a romantic air. Gayle came over to the couch and sat down next to me, scooting closer, as she placed her cup on the coffee table. Then she leaned back, and I felt her hand against my back. Her hand rubbed gently at first, and then slowly moved up to my neck, where her fingers began a light massage, easing the tension in my body. "How ya doin'?" she asked softly. I was resting my elbows on my knees, as she continued rubbing my neck, and then let my head slowly fall forward. "Good," I replied, in a near whisper. Gayle's hand eased down my back and began further exploring, first down my spine to the small of my back, and then to the sides, up and over my ribs. When I lifted my elbow, her hand came up and gently cupped my breast. And, as her fingers caressed it, she asked if I wanted a massage. With my eyes closed, I slowly nodded. Gayle stood from the couch and said I could change in her bathroom. "There's a robe in there you can put on," she said, as she walked down the hallway toward her bedroom. Although, in the back of my mind, I knew where this could lead, I found myself in a calmative state of mind, relaxed, as if in a hypnotic mode. I rose from the sofa and walked to the bathroom. There, I turned on the light and shut the door behind me. As I stood unbuttoning my blouse, I felt very calm. The anxiety, which had been racking my body on the drive there, was no longer tormenting me, and I felt as comfortable undressing in Gayle's bathroom, as I would in my own. So, I thought nothing of it, when I dropped my shirt to the floor and unzipped my jeans. I pushed them down my legs and stepped out of them, but paused, wondering how much further I should go. But, again, it wasn't from prudishness or nerves, rather a legitimate question in my mind. Did she want me to completely undress? I looked up and saw myself in the mirror, wearing nothing more than my bra and panties, and wondered what she saw in me. Then there was a soft knock on the door. "You ready in there?" I reached for the long blue robe hanging on a hook by the shower. "Yeah," I replied. I slipped my arms inside and tied the front shut. As I walked out into the living room, the lights were turned off, but the room was filled with the soft orange glow of candlelight. Gayle was kneeling by the coffee table lighting another candle. Next to her on the floor was a long dark green foam mat with a pillow on one end, and sitting aside the mat was a small bottle. I put my hands in the pockets of the robe and slowly stepped over to her. She blew out the match between her fingers, and then turned and looked up at me. Then she grinned and patted her hand on the mat. "Ready?" she asked. I nodded and stepped around to the other side of the mat opposite her. My hands pulled the belt loose, and then reached up and eased the robe down my shoulders. It was only then that I noticed Gayle had changed clothes, wearing a white t-shirt and black spandex shorts. I laid the robe on the sofa and lowered myself to the floor and kneeled, asking how she wanted me. She picked up the small bottle, replying, "Let's start with your back." Then I watched, as she opened the bottle and poured a small amount of liquid onto her hands. Gayle must have thought I was wondering what it was, and she stopped rubbing her hands together and held one out to me. "Massage oil," she said with a warm smile. "Lavender." I leaned forward and sniffed her hand. "Smells nice." Her grin widened, and then she scooted back, holding her hands up like a surgeon ready to perform delicate surgery. I moved onto the mat and lay on my stomach, pulling the pillow further under my face. Then I heard her clear her throat and ask if I wanted to remove my bra. I lifted my head and peered over my shoulder. Gayle was still holding her hands up and wiggled her fingers. "Don't wanna get any of this on it," she said with a smile. Laying my head down on the pillow again, I reached back and unclasped my bra. Then I sat up on my elbows and pulled it off entirely, setting it of to the side. Just as I was about to lie down again, I sat up on my elbows and quietly asked if she wanted me to remove my panties, as well. There was a brief pause, and then Gayle replied only if I wanted to. I slowly nodded and heard her whisper ok. I lay my head on the pillow, and then reached down with my hands and lifted my hips, carefully rolling my panties over them. It took some awkward maneuvering, but I finally pulled them from my feet, dropping them next to my bra. As I lay there listening to the music, I brought my arms up and around the pillow, and then felt Gayle's hands come to rest on my shoulder blades. Her fingers began gently kneading my muscles, and I sighed softly. Over and around my shoulders, down my back, and then up again, applying a soothing pressure. She grazed her fingers under my armpits, and I giggled. "Ticklish?" she asked. I nodded. Then Gayle moved around my body, stretching out my arm and running her strong fingers up and down its length. She massaged the top and bottom of my hand, carefully pulling on each finger. And, when she moved to the other arm, I sighed happily at her delicate touch. After finishing my arms, she maneuvered around until she was kneeling in front of my head. She placed her hands at the top of my shoulder blades again and splayed her fingers, slowly pushing down my back. When she reached my hips, she rotated her fingers inward until each hand firmly clasped a cheek of my butt. Her fingers sank deep into my flesh and began squeezing softly, pushing and pulling. An odd feeling came over me, a feeling as if I should be nervous about her touching me like this, but the anxiety wasn't there, and I only took a deep breath and sighed. All too soon, however, she stopped and moved down to my legs. Just as with my arms, she ran her fingers up and down their length, pressing into the thick muscles. And, when she worked my toes, as she had done to my fingers, I giggled, as her hand brushed lightly against the sole of my foot. "Ticklish there, too, huh?" she chuckled. "Yeah," I whispered softly. Gayle lifted my foot, giving it detailed attention, and, when she had finished with it, she placed a delicate kiss on each of my toes, and then moved to the next foot. When done with my feet, she slowly ran her hands up my inner thighs, drawing closer to my vagina. But, as she neared, her hands twisted outward and came to rest atop each cheek of my butt. I felt her move up to straddle my legs, and then her hands resumed massaging, gripping the flesh of my butt hard and doing as she had before, kneading my flesh. My breathing was shallow, but I could feel my heart beating faster, as Gayle manipulated my body. Then I felt her thumbs go deep into the crevice of my butt and spread me open. I tensed, as her thumbs carefully moved closer to my anus. "Just let your body relax," she whispered. No one, not even my husband, had ever touched me in such an intimate manner, let alone down there, so it took a great deal of concentration on my part to force my body to relax under her hands. Gayle's thumbs were now gently massaging the sensitive skin around my anus, not touching it directly, but very close. As she pressed her thumbs into my flesh, I could feel the tender skin of my anus rolling out and spreading, sending just a tiny hint of tepid pain up my spine. My fingers and toes responded by curling tightly. But, after a few seconds, her thumbs followed her hands up my back to my shoulders, and I felt her leaning across me. Gayle pulled the hair from one side of my face and brought hers closer. "You have really nice legs," she whispered, as I felt her warm breath swath across my ear. I smiled and whispered thanks in reply, and then she planted a gentle kiss against my ear, leaving a trail of them down my neck. She sat for what seemed a very long time on my lower back, straddling my body, and working her fingers on my shoulders and upper back. But, all too soon, she stopped and rolled off me, patting my butt. "Ready for the other side?" she asked. I lay there motionless for a moment, as I reveled in the wonderful feelings she had imbued in my body and soul, but reluctantly forced myself up onto my elbows. As I rolled onto my back, I opened my heavy eyelids and saw Gayle kneeling beside me, applying more oil to her hands. "How is it?" she asked. I lay my head on the pillow and stretched my arms over my head and pointed my toes straight out. Then I let my body suddenly relax, placing my hands on my stomach. "Amazing," I sighed, closing my eyes. "Good," she whispered. Gayle repeated the same procedure she had used on my back, but seemed to avoid getting too close to my breasts. She massaged my arms and legs, as before, once again eliciting a gentle giggle from me. When her hands moved up my legs from my feet, it was almost as if they slowly spread of their own accord. My mind wondered if they moved in response to some unconscious directive from my brain or if Gayle was pushing my legs apart. In either case, I was too far- gone to care. I stretched my arms over my head and let my knees fall open. Then I sighed happily, as I felt her thumbs, those wonderful instruments of sensual pleasure, softly ply the flesh on either side of my vagina. As with my anus, she never made direct contact, but just enough to feel good, to let me know she was intent on pleasuring my body. Her thumbs carefully spread my folds, and I felt a cool draft against my warm flesh. My head lolled and my neck arched, as I moaned softly. And, while my body took in the sweet sensations, my mind began wondering how it was I could feel a cool draft on such a singular part of my body. My hands gripped the pillow below my head, and I sighed, as I thought I felt something warm and wet lightly grazing up the length of my exposed vagina. But I didn't care, only smiling in response. Then I felt Gayle's hands move up my body, up across my stomach, until they landed softly on my breasts. I could feel her straddling my waist, as her fingers began massaging my breasts, squeezing the soft flesh, and occasionally rubbing her palms against my nipples. "You have beautiful breasts," I thought I heard her whisper. Then her fingers drew inward to the top of each where they gently pulled on my nipples. I could feel them steadily harden and become increasingly sensitive, as Gayle continued to manipulate them. Then, just as with my vagina, I thought I could feel something warm and wet envelope a nipple. I groaned and arched my back, and felt something pulling sharply on the tip of my nipple, stretching the flesh far. This same mysterious act was performed on both breasts, and, after a final rubdown, Gayle dismounted my body. My eyes opened lazily, and I saw her sitting next to me, resting her hands on her thighs. She reached up to her face and brushed the hair from her eyes with the back of her hand. "How was it?" she asked. I let my eyes slowly close and shook my head back and forth, inhaling deeply. As I exhaled, I sighed and opened my eyes again. "Incredible," I mumbled. Gayle chuckled and picked up a small washcloth, wiping her hands. "Wanna take a shower and get cleaned up?" she asked, as she set the washcloth down next to her. I stretched my arms and legs and nodded. "Mm... Yeah," I replied with a happy groan. She reached for my hand and helped me sit up, and then she raised herself off the floor, pulling me with her. I rested my hands on the back of my hips and closed my eyes, slowly rotating my head in wide circles. "God, that felt good," I sighed. When I opened my eyes, Gayle was placing her hands at the bottom of her t-shirt and, in a very deliberate motion, pulled it up her body and over her head. That's when I suddenly became conscious my own nudity. My heart started pounding in my chest, as her small breasts were suddenly exposed in front of me. They were small, smaller than mine, jutting out from her chest like pointy cones, but with nipples nearly the same size as my own. I gulped and felt the trembling in my knees begin to wax once more. Gayle let the t-shirt drop to the floor, and then I watched in stunned silence, as she slipped her thumbs under the waist of her shorts and carefully ease them over her hips. She leaned down and pulled out each foot and let the shorts crumple to the floor atop her shirt. Then she gave me a brief smile and stepped over to the stereo where she retrieved one of the small candles. She slowly turned to me, shielding the tiny flame with her hand, and asked me to get the one on the coffee table. I didn't move right away, until her eyes met mine. The candle Gayle held eerily lighted her face, but when she smiled, her teeth shone brightly and I slowly nodded. "Ok," I whispered. I turned, taking half a step, and leaned down for the candle. When it was in my hand, shielded as hers, Gayle nudged her head, gesturing for me to follow her. As we made our way down the dark hallway, in the faint light of our candles, I could make out her nude body in front of me; the shape of her back in the form of a V, the apex unintentionally drawing my eyes down to where her long legs met her torso. In the bathroom, she set her candle on the counter, and then took mine, placing it next to the other. Gayle asked me to shut the door, and then she turned toward the shower. As I turned back to her, she was bending over, holding onto the shower curtain rod and working the faucet. A spray of water suddenly shot out from the showerhead, and she stood upright, holding her free hand under it. After a few seconds, she pulled her hand out and glanced back at me. "Ready?" she asked with a grin. I nodded nervously and followed her into the shower. She stepped inside and turned to take my hand, helping me in with her. We stood there, side-by-side, naked from head to toe, our bodies assuming the classic just- got-in-the-shower posture: head cocked back slightly, eyes squinting, and hands held out in front, as the water splashed against our chests and our bodies adjusted to the sudden change in temperature. Even though the candles gave off a very faint glow, there was still enough light that I could see Gayle's nipples poking out from her small breasts. My gaze drifted up her chest, to her neck, and landed on her mouth. She was gritting her teeth, and then startled me, when she suddenly looked at me. "Brrr," she said with a chuckle, wrapping her arms tightly to her chest. I giggled nervously, and then she turned around, placing her hands behind her and lowering her chin, as she allowed the water to splash against her back. I wasn't quite sure what to do, so I simply followed her lead, assuming the same position. Then she turned her head to me and whispered. "So, you liked it?" she asked. "What's that?" I replied tensely. Gayle rolled her eyes, and, just as she went to speak, I said, "Oh... the massage?" She nodded. "Yeah," I mumbled. "It was good... really nice... felt good." And then my words trailed off, until the only sound to be heard was the water spraying against our backs. We stood there staring at the bottom of the tub, down to our feet, neither of us speaking. I glanced at Gayle's pubic hair, sparse and light brown, neatly trimmed. Then my eyes drifted to mine, bright orange and not nearly as well groomed. But, in my defense, it wasn't as though I was expecting to be presenting it to an audience. Gayle wiggled her toes, and I chuckled. Then she slowly rotated her foot and tapped it against the top of mine. "No rough housing in the pool, please," I chuckled sheepishly. She laughed, causing me to snicker along with her, and then she reached over for a bar of soap and handed it to me. "You're such a cutie," she said, as she turned to face the water. Unlike the massage, there was nothing remotely erotic about our shower together. I washed the oil from my body, while Gayle shampooed her hair, and then we swapped, and she washed her body, as I did likewise with my hair. Toward the end, she was standing at the back of the shower with one foot propped up on the edge of the tub, as she leaned over and shaved her legs. I was standing under the water watching, holding my hands close to my chest with my elbows tucked in, almost striking a skittish pose. And, in a sense, I was. I was nervous about what we were doing, about what we had done and where it was leading, and how it was affecting me. But, in my heart, I admitted to wanting this. I wanted the physical and emotional intimacy of a romantic relationship, and, even if it were with another woman, try as I might, I couldn't find any reason not to take what this beautiful person was offering. I reached out a hand and let the tips of my fingers touch Gayle's back. As she continued to work the razor on her leg, she turned her head, glancing back at me, and smiled. Our eyes met only briefly, and then mine turned back to the hand touching her warm skin. She resumed shaving, standing up to switch legs, and I let my hand trace down her back, finally coming to rest on her buttocks. But then Gayle stood and turned, facing the spray and holding her razor under the water. There was no obvious reaction on her part to my touch. I reached my hand out again, this time bringing it to her breast. She kept cleaning her razor, but did turn slightly so I could touch her more easily. My fingers gently grazed over the soft flesh, and then she reached over and set the razor on a small wire shelf hanging from the showerhead. "Ready to get out?" she asked. But I was still staring at her breasts, mesmerized by them. They were small and beautiful, and I thought no sane person could resist them. I'd never thought about breasts until then, how soft and warm they were. I brought both hands up and gently laid them atop Gayle's chest, taking up a gentle massaging motion. She reached up and hooked her hair behind her ears, and then reached out for my hips, pulling us closer. I could feel the prickle of her pubic hair against me, but, at that moment, my thoughts centered on the wonderful little mounds flesh under my hands. I traced my fingers over her nipples and carefully pulled on them. "Feels nice," she whispered. I'd never had such thoughts about another woman in my life, but in that instant, I wanted to make love to Gayle. I wanted to lean down and take one of her sharp, scarlet nipples into my mouth and nurse. We stood there for a few minutes, and then Gayle spoke again. "Ready to get out?" she asked. I wiped the water from my face and nodded. She smiled, as if embarrassed, which was the first time I ever noticed such a lack of confidence in her. Gayle leaned down and shut off the water, and then slowly pushed the shower curtain to the side. She reached over to a shelf and pulled off two towels, handing me one. We dried off as best would could in the tub, trying not to get water on the tile floor outside it, and then stepped out to finish. When I pulled the towel from my head, Gayle was leaning against the bathroom counter, wearing hers wrapped around her torso. I brought mine around my body, doing as she had done. "Want some wine?" she asked softly, reaching out with a hand to gently caress my arm. I nodded. "Yeah," I replied. She picked up the two candles, giving one to me, and then reached down and took my hand in hers, leading me out to the living room. Gayle handed me her tiny candle, and then walked into the kitchen, while I replaced the candles to their previous positions; one on the coffee table and the other by the stereo. Then I walked around to the couch and sat down, using my hands to push the long strands of damp hair back over my head. A moment later, Gayle emerged from the dark kitchen holding two wine glasses. As she walked toward me, my heart fluttered. She looked so beautiful wearing nothing but a towel around her body, her long brown hair dangling around her face. Gayle appeared so different to me, like this. I'd always seen her dressed nicely, so manicured and perfect. It seems clichéd to say, but she exuded a cosmopolitan radiance, a certain style and class. But to see her in this manner stripped of the ephemeral outward trappings, I was awed at how she still managed to carry herself with the same degree of grace and elegance. I was jerked out of my daydream, when Gayle nudged my arm. I blinked and looked at her, but she only smiled and handed me my glass. We sat in silence, listening to the soft, slow music of the stereo, and then she set her glass on the coffee table and glanced at me. "Were you going to spend the night?" she asked quietly. Her eyes darted away, before I could answer, but I didn't have to think about it. "Yeah," I mumbled. I could see Gayle's mouth twitch, as if she was trying to suppress a grin, and she picked up her glass again, holding it between her fingers. "Do you want to?" she asked. My feet fidgeted, and I slowly nodded. "Yeah," I replied. Then she lifted her glass to her lips and before taking a sip, said, "But you're not a lesbian." A tremor coursed through my body, and my shoulders shivered. "I know," I replied. Gayle slowly nodded and placed her glass on the table, and then rested her elbows on her knees and turned to face me. "Wanna dance?" she asked softly. I lowered the glass from my lips and took a deep breath, nodding in reply. We both rose from the couch at the same time, walking around either end of the coffee table to the center of the room. As we stopped in front of each other, she looked down her body and brought her hands to the top of her towel. She carefully peeled it away and held it out to the side, letting it drop to the floor. Then she reached for mine, but stopped short of removing it. Her eyes looked to mine, and I gulped, but jittered my head up and down. Then I looked down and watched, as her slender fingers opened the towel surrounding me and let it fall atop hers on the floor. Gayle took a step toward me and placed her hands on my waist, while mine hung loosely at my sides, too afraid to make contact with her, lest she feel how clammy and nervous I was. She began swaying our bodies to the music, and then whispered to me. "You sure you wanna do this?" she asked. I was staring directly at her chin, but nodded and carefully brought my hands to her hips. Then she chuckled and placed a hand atop mine. "I'm kinda nervous, too," she said. I felt my face flush, and I turned my eyes away, saying shyly, "I've never done anything like this." There was a brief pause, as we continued to move with the music, and then she said, "Do you want to?" I was still looking away, off toward the couch, toward the door, when she stopped moving and placed the back of her hand against my cheek and gently stroked it. I turned my eyes to her, and she gave me a tender smile. "You don't have to," she whispered. "I know." "Then don't..." "No," I replied, shaking my head. "I want to... I wanna spend the night with you." Our bodies began moving in unison to the music again, as we held each other. "Can I tell you something?" she whispered. I nodded, and then she licked her lips and let her eyes drift away from mine. "Kinda hard to say," she mumbled. I felt my hands pull her closer, and a curt smile quaked across her lips. Gayle turned her eyes to the ceiling, something I recognized from the night before, and I caught the faint glimmer of moisture in them. "It's ok," I whispered. Her lips quivered again, and she took a deep breath, her breasts pushing against mine. Then she lowered her eyes, and a single tear fell. "Jessie," she whimpered. Then she paused and sniffled, saying, "You're someone I could fall in love with." Gayle tried to grin, but her chin was throbbing too much, causing her mouth to form a frown instead. I reached up and wiped the tear from her eye with my thumb, and then gently lay my face against her neck. "I did with you a long time ago," I whispered. Gayle gave a wet snort, and hugged me close, bringing her hand to the back of my head. For a long while, we swayed in each other's arms, long after the music had ended, embracing and roaming our hands up and down the other's body. When we at last stopped, we slowly parted, and I took her hands in mine. "You're such a beautiful person," I whispered. Gayle seemed embarrassed and looked away. "Thanks," she mumbled softly. Then her eyes turned to me, and she said, "So are you." My heart swelled, and I moved closer to hug her, but, as she came to meet me, she lowered her face to mine. We stopped abruptly, as our noses lightly touched, and I could feel her warm breath on my lips. She smiled hesitantly, and then I closed my eyes and slowly opened my mouth. Our lips met, and we moaned at the same time, as our tongues quickly became entangled. No one had ever kissed me like that. What had started as placid, temperate kissing, very soon evolved to a more feverish pitch, as Gayle and I clung to one another, kissing and licking, not wanting to break contact. Her lips moved across my face to my neck, as one hand gripped the back of my head through the matted hair and the other moved down to my buttocks, squeezing and pulling. Then I closed my eyes and gasped, as she sucked hard on my neck and reached the hand behind me deep between my legs. "Oh... God," I groaned, letting my head fall back and rising up onto my toes, as Gayle took control of my body, dragging her hand up behind me. When our lips came together once more, we slowly sank to the floor. She laid me back and draped her torso across mine, kissing me and groping my breasts. I wrapped my arms around her and initiated a new stage of our relationship. After what seemed like an eternity, we finally broke apart, panting heavily. Gayle smiled down at me and I returned it, as her fingers traced lightly around my nipple. Then she slowly leaned down and parted her lips, taking it between them. As her tongue playfully toyed with it, I closed my eyes and sighed, bringing my hand to her head and stroking her hair. And, after a few minutes, she released me and sat up again. "Wanna go to the bedroom?" she whispered. Gayle's hand slowly drifted down my body, landing softly atop vagina, where she began to gently caress and pet. My heart fluttered again, and I nodded. "Yeah," I whispered. She pushed herself onto her knees and held her hand out for mine, helping me to my feet, and then we each picked up a candle and held hands, as she led me to the bedroom. In the few steps it took for us to reach her bedroom, my mind began racing, as I thought about how very surreal this all was. Gayle was my best friend, but someone whom I found myself falling in love with for a long time now. We had touched each other, here and there, on rare occasions at first, testing the waters, trying to discern if this is what we wanted. At the time, from the onset, when I first figured out, at least in my mind, that she was attracted to me, it was somewhat unsettling. I wasn't a lesbian, but, at the same time, it had been very long since someone had felt that way about me, expressed this depth of interest in being with me. But I became accustomed to the idea of Gayle having romantic inklings for me, and it didn't take long for me to accept that I had them for her, as well. She had massaged my body, touching me all over, we showered together, further exploring the boundaries, and finally she and I had danced nude in her dark living room, silently acknowledging what we both wanted. The only hurdle remaining was to make love. And so my heart beat faster, with each step, drawing us closer to her bed and the moment where I would cross a line I never dreamed I would ever approach. While Gayle stepped over to the dresser, placing her candle atop it, I walked to the nightstand by the bed, setting mine there. Just as I was about to turn, I felt her come up from behind, placing her hands on my shoulders. She leaned down to my neck, and I tilted my head to the side, and then she pulled my hair back and started kissing me, as her hands slipped around to my chest, where they began delicately manipulating my breasts. I closed my eyes and sighed, bringing my hands to hers, and turned in her arms. We stood facing each other, gently running our hands over the other's breasts. And, as my breathing became shallower, I felt my body lean forward until my face was above one small, pert nipple. My mouth opened, and when my lips touched her taut flesh, we both moaned softly. At first, I nursed quietly, softly sucking, but she sighed heavily and brought her hand between my legs, rubbing hard and feeling her way into my body. When her long fingers penetrated me, my jaw dropped and I clung to her. "Oh... God," I moaned. With her fingers still inside me, Gayle carefully rotated our bodies and laid me back onto the bed, while she kneeled on the floor. Instinctively, I pulled my legs back, grasping behind my knees, as she continued to massage deep inside my vagina. She pushed her fingers deeper still, and, as I watched, Gayle leaned forward and pressed her open mouth against me, dragging her tongue up across my clit. My eyes slowly closed and my jaw dropped, as her warm lips began sucking and licking. My head fell back onto the mattress, and I groaned at what she was doing to my body. A steady tingling sensation, a deep warmth, was growing between my legs. My breathing was coming quicker, and my heart pounded. I winced, when she took my clit between her lips and pulled, flicking her tongue rapidly across the sensitive nub. My back arched off the bed, and I cried out. My body was trembling, and sweat rolled down the side of my face, but Gayle didn't stop. And, when I could no longer hold my legs up, my fingers let loose, and I gripped the sheets tightly, clenching my fists. "Oh, Jesus!" I cried out. Gayle pushed my legs apart, as they dangled off the edge of the bed, moaning herself and wiggling her tongue into my body, snaking it around inside me and licking my warm, wet walls. I began gasping, holding her head between my hands, sighing and saying her name over and over. And, with each cry of her name, I could feel her suck harder and moan, sending a muffled hum across my vagina. Then her hands come under my thighs and pushed my legs up and apart. Gayle pulled me closer so that my ass was perched at the edge of the bed, and her hands slid down and spread the soft globes. For a moment, her mouth broke contact with my body, and I ran a hand across my face, wiping away the sweat and hair, trying to finally catch my breath. I lifted my weary head and peered down at Gayle kneeling between my legs. Even in the soft glow of the candlelight, I could see the lower half of her face glistening with moisture. I felt her fingers move closer to my anus, her thumbs coming to stop on either side of it. I started breathing hard again, and my body began trembling. She brushed her thumb over the sensitive circle of tight flesh, and I lightly gasped, gripping the sheets tighter. Then her thumbs pulled apart, gently flowering my anus. I grit my teeth, as a slight stinging sensation pricked at me. Gayle lowered her face and opened her mouth, and, when I felt her lips seal around my anus, I dropped my head to the bed once more and moaned loudly. At first, she only licked, dragging her tongue across the tight pink circle, and each time, my body would instinctively tense. The more she did it, however, the more my muscles began to tire, and very soon, they relaxed entirely. When Gayle seemed to sense this, she began pushing her tongue into me. My body tried to block the intruder, but couldn't. And, when she reached up with her thumb to gently massage my clit, my body gave up all resistance. I don't know how much time passed, but Gayle at last pulled away from my body and rolled me onto my stomach. She had me get on my hands and knees, while she stood behind, and then pushed what seemed like her entire hand into my vagina. My head shot up, and I nearly screamed, when she reached her other hand below and began roughly massaging my clit. As she pumped her fingers in and out of my vagina, I could feel it contract, gripping her fingers like a velvet glove every time she went to withdraw them. Gayle was fucking me hard with her hand, pushing me across the bed, until finally she had to join me on the mattress, kneeling alongside my body, as she continued her assault. I cried out continuously, begging her to stop, but at the same time moaning loudly at the pleasure she was giving me. It was quickly becoming more stimulation than I could take, more than I'd ever had, and my back pumped up and down, as my head dropped between my shoulders, and my body was racked with a powerful orgasm. But Gayle's hands never left me. Even as I fell to the bed, lying prostrate on my stomach, twitching and moaning, tears forming in my eyes, she continued to stimulate me. But, when she knew I could take no more, the feverish activity of her hands slowly ebbed, until at last it stopped altogether. I lay on the bed panting loudly and gasping for air, my arms and legs sprawled out across the mattress, while Gayle gently ran her hands across my back. She brought them to my shoulders and eased me over. She was smiling and brushed the hair from my face, lowering her body next to mine and resting her head against her elbow. Her fingers lightly touched my chin and pulled my faced toward hers. "How was it?" she asked with a soft smile. Still trying to catch my breath, I managed to nod. "Good," I breathed. "Want something to drink?" she asked. With some effort, I nodded again. "Be right back," she said, patting her hand on my chest. I could still only nod in reply. Gayle slipped off the bed and walked across the room, disappearing into the dark hallway. I pushed myself onto my elbows and groaned. I felt completely used up, utterly exhausted, but managed to drag my body to the head of the bed, falling back onto a heap of pillows. I ran my hands over my face and sighed. Part of me was still reeling from the fact that I'd just had sex with another woman, but standing starker in my mind was the notion of finally being satisfied, as if a void in my life had been filled to overflowing. Not a carnal or physical void, but one of an almost spiritual and emotional nature. In short, I felt loved again. I dragged my fingers down my face, and, when I opened my eyes, Gayle was walking into the room holding two cups. I pushed myself upright, as she sat on the edge of the bed, handing me one. "Just water," she whispered, taking a sip of her own. I looked down and swirled the cup, causing the two little ice cubes inside to clatter and jostle. Then I brought it to my lips and gulped it down. When the cup was emptied, I lowered it and the ice cubes slipped to the bottom with a clink. I glanced at Gayle and she smiled. "Pretty thirsty there," she said, reaching for my cup. I handed it to her, and she asked if I wanted more, but I slowly wagged my head from side to side. "Ok," she softly replied, and set both our cups on the nightstand. Gayle stood and walked around to the other side of the bed, crawling onto the mattress next to me. I turned to face her, and together we lay side by side, gently caressing the other. But soon, our hands began further exploring, winding their way down our bodies, and, as if by instinct, we both raised our legs, allowing the other access. We scooted closer, closer until the tips of our breasts touched and we could feel the heavy breathing of the other person sweep across our cheek. As I curled my fingers around her warm sex, carefully rubbing my palm against her, her hand slithered up my torso, landing on my face. Then she closed her eyes and pushed her lips to mine. We kissed softly. "I love you," she whispered and kissed me again, pressing her tongue between my teeth. I pursed my lips around it and sucked, and we both moaned. Gayle moved her waist closer to mine, causing one of my fingers to lodge at the mouth of her vagina. She suddenly exhaled hard on my face, and her body went rigid, as her hand gripped the back of my neck and pulled me closer. "Yes," she sighed heavily, gently pushing her hips against my hand, slipping my finger deeper into her body. It was the first time I'd ever been inside another person, and it felt so absolutely foreign to me. All my life, when my hand came between another's legs, there was something for me to hold onto, something to grasp, something long and rigid, an outward expression of their desire for me. I didn't have to guess and wonder about their feelings. Their body was telling me. Telling me, at least, there was a carnal lust, but not how they felt about me as a person. It didn't mean he loved me, only that he was sexually aroused. When I came home with the man I'd met at the bar, he kept telling me to make a noise, some sort of indication that he was pleasing me, but all I could do was grunt, though not because I relished what he was doing, but because I found no pleasure in being used to satiate his sexual longings. I moaned and grunted only because I wanted it to end. I tried to turn my gaze down between us, down to where my finger penetrated her body. Gayle was taking short, quick breaths, clinging to me and holding her head far back, stretching her slender neck. She seemed on fire, the inside of her body so very warm, almost hot to the touch. And then I started sweating, wondering if this was only a carnal lust she had for me, saying she loved me, but meaning my body and how she found sexual pleasure in it. But it didn't seem right. It didn't make sense. This was unimaginably different what we were doing. It was nothing like the mere simple act of intercourse I had with that empty man. I slipped another finger into her and she gasped again, her body jerking tightly and her fingernails digging into my back. I carefully pulled away from Gayle, but kept my fingers inside her vagina, curling them and letting the tips massage her soft walls. And, as if paralyzed, her body remained taut, when she rolled onto her back, her head still craned and her jaw hanging open. I gazed down her body. Her small breasts laid almost flat, only the sharp nipples breaking the plain of her chest, and her ribs pushed through her skin, as her stomach hollowed in and out every time she breathed. And her knees were pulled back and spread wide. "Fuck me," she gasped wearily. I looked to her face, but her eyes were still closed, her full lips pursed in a tight circle. And, like her stomach, her cheeks puffed with every breath. "Please," she pleaded. My heart started beating faster, my eyes darting up and down her body. The hand between her legs began moving quicker, desperately trying to stimulate her, pushing as deep into her body as it could, smearing its wet palm against her mound, seeking out her tiny point of pleasure. Gayle suddenly gasped and stuttered. She was trying to speak. Her hands instantly flew to mine, clasping it and pumping it in and out of her vagina. "Oh Christ!" she cried, arching her back far off the bed and thrusting her hips upward. My eyes went wide and my heart fluttered wildly. I sat up quickly and leaned over her torso, pushing my mouth to a nipple, sucking the tiny stub, raking my teeth over it, chewing and biting. We were both crying and moaning loudly. Her hand furiously worked mine between her legs, stabbing herself with it, grunting with each thrust. On the outward stroke, I slipped two more fingers into the path, and when she felt the added girth enter her body, Gayle's back suddenly dropped and she shot upright until she was nearly sitting. She wrapped her arm around my head, holding my mouth to her breast, her long hair tousled all about my face, while together we worked my hand into her as she sat on it, grinding her hips and trying to bounce up and down. Gayle's face was resting on my forehead. She was panting hard, her sweet breath washing down across me, and her voice almost vacant, as she squeaked and blubbered my name, cursing and crying at the same time. She brought both hands around my body and held me tightly to her, as she rocked us back and forth. "oh... oh, Jesus... oh my god..." I pushed my free hand between us and pinched the plump flesh of her breast, sucking it into my open mouth. Gayle groaned above and kissed my forehead, all the while riding my hand in a frenzy. "God, that feels so good," she whimpered. It sounded almost as if she was crying, and I carefully released my grip on her breast, easing her back onto the pillows again. As I sat up, I looked to her face and saw tears streaming down her cheeks, her eyes but tiny shimmering slits. She tried to smile, but only choked and coughed. I pulled my hand from between her legs and leaned closer, thinking I had somehow hurt her. "You ok?" I asked nervously. Gayle's lips formed another small circle, as she tried to catch her breath and smile at the same time. Her head slowly jittered up and down, while her body continued to spasm and tremble. Then she took my hand in hers and pulled it to her face. Her hands were visibly shaking, but she was still trying to smile. She gingerly kissed my hand, the one that had been inside her body, and then placed it against her cheek, holding it in place with both of hers and closing her eyes with an exhausted sigh. Half an hour later, we stood together in the shower once more, but this time without the trepidation that had plagued us before. We openly kissed and embraced under the water, and, though weary, seemingly charged with a new sense of energy, a different type altogether. Our bodies were weak, but our minds full of life. Afterwards, we walked back to the bedroom and climbed into bed, falling asleep next to one another. It was the first time in so long that I felt like my old self again, the person I had once been in the not so distant past. It felt good to be back amongst the living. In the morning, I awoke groggy and my body aching, but still retaining that same sense of newness. I stretched and smiled and looked to Gayle's side of the bed. She wasn't there. I exhaled with a long sigh, as my body relaxed, and then I pushed myself up and forced my legs to carry me to the door. As I crept down the hallway, I could see the light of day flooding into the living room ahead. The television was on, but playing softly. Moving closer, I first saw her arm, then the side of her face and shoulders, as she sat curled up on a reclining chair. Gayle was resting her head against her elbow and watching television, when I stepped into view. From the corner of her eye, she saw me and lifted her head, turning and giving me a warm smile. "Morning, sleepy," she said softly, taking a sip from a mug she held in her hand. I shaded my eyes from the light and smile. "Hey," I whispered, stepping over to her. Gayle picked up the remote control from her lap and pointed it toward the television. I looked over and watched as she lowered the volume, and then kneeled on the floor in front of her, placing a hand on her leg. "Get enough sleep?" she asked, blowing over the top of her mug and taking another drink. I nodded. "What time is it?" I asked, brushing the hair from my eyes and looking about the room. "Almost noon," she replied. Groaning, I dropped my face to the cushion of her chair, rolling my head from side to side. "God, I'm beat," I sighed with a chuckle. I lifted my head and she smiled again. "Me, too," she replied. Her legs still curled up on the chair, I leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on her knee, then rested my chin on it, grinning up at her. A short time later, we were in her bedroom getting dressed. As I sat on the edge of the bed tying my shoes, she stood by her dresser, pushing her arms into a sweater and pulling it down over her head. Then she turned and reached up behind her head, fluffing her hair and tying it into a ponytail. "I want you to do something for me," she said with her chin pulled down to her neck, as she fumbled with a rubber band in her hair. "What's that?" I replied, dropping my foot to the floor and clapping my hands to my knees happily. Gayle brought her hands down and brushed them together, and then placed them behind her on the dresser and leaned back. My smile quickly faded, when I saw the expression on her face, something of a serious nature in it. I swallowed and watched, as her eyes dropped to the floor and she draped one foot over the other. "You're not a lesbian," she said softly. "And I understand that. But I want you to know something, Jess." Then she raised her eyes to mine, and I quickly nodded, rubbing my hands on my knees. Gayle cleared her throat and folded her arms. "I need to be very clear on this," she stated firmly. Then she paused and took a deep breath, saying, "I'm not interested in a one night stand." I blinked and nodded. "Ok," I mumbled nervously. She kept staring straight at me, unflinching. "But you're not a lesbian," she replied in a tone I'd used at school many times or at home with my daughter. My fingers gripped my knees and I nodded again. "I know," I quietly said. She took another breath and looked down at the floor. Gayle turned her eyes up to mine and twisted her lips from side to side, as if she were mulling something over. "Do you?" she asked. I held my palms up plaintively. "Gayle," I said. "Look... Yeah, I under-..." But she waved her hand and cut me off. "No, I don't think you do," she said. "Listen to what I'm saying, ok?" I shrugged and dropped my hands with a huff, darting my eyes around the room, a little confused by her sudden change in demeanor. "Gayle, I..." "You're not a lesbian," she said sternly, leaning forward. My heart was pounding, and I felt myself on the verge of tears. "You know what I'm saying?" she said. "You're not a lesbian, and I am, and I'm not interested in a one night stand or hiding behind a curtain, sneaking around with you, hoping your neighbors or the people you work with don't see us together. I'm a lesbian and I don't give a shit who knows it. But you're not. See the problem?" A tear started rolling down my cheek, and I reached up, quickly wiping it away. "I know," I mumbled, trying hard not to burst into tears. But my emotions took control, and the gates were opened. Tears started streaming down my face and my mouth contorted. "So... So what're you saying?" I asked. "You... You're not... What? You're not interested in me or something?" Gayle sighed and tilted her head, as she gazed at me with sincere sympathy. "It's not that, sweetie," she said, stepping over to sit next to me on the bed. She pulled my hand to her face and kissed it. "I am interested in you. Very much, but..." Then she looked away, holding my hand to her chest. Her eyes turned to mine, and she tried to smile. "I wanna be in a relationship with you," she whispered, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. "I'm ready to do it. The thing is, are you?" I swiped my fingers under my eyes and nodded. "Yeah," I said. "I think so." Gayle sighed and slowly shook her head. "I'm sorry, Jess, but 'I think so' isn't good enough for me. You need to know so. You need to know exactly what you want and exactly what you're getting into. I do want you, and I want to be in a loving relationship with you. I want it for the long-term, ok? I meant it, when I said you were someone I could fall in love with." Then she kissed my hand again. "I am in love with you. But what I'm asking of you isn't just a matter of whom you sleep with. It's not like I'm asking you to wear a different pair of shoes or change some superficial part of who you are. You see what I'm saying? It's bigger than that." I wiped my nose and chuckled, thinking of how similar this conversation was to the one Rachel and I had when she told me she was a lesbian. "Yeah," I mumbled. "I know... I know what you mean." "You need to think about it, ok? Don't just make a spur-of-the-moment decision. People are gonna treat you different. They're not going to understand. Some of them might never understand, especially because they've already known you for so long. Your family, your friends and neighbors, the people you work with... Jess, it's not like you're going out in public wearing a new pair of shoes. That doesn't tell anyone what kind of person you are. But coming out as a lesbian? Yeah, right or wrong, I'm sorry to say, that sorta does. People will make character judgments of you based on it. You've already been through one traumatic experience. What you need to do is think about whether you really wanna do it again." Gayle's motherly tone was soothing, but her words hit home in an unnerving way. I hadn't thought about how being with her would change my life in ways other than fulfilling an emotional void. I began thinking about all the people I knew, the people I worked with, the students, my husband's friends, the neighbors, everyone who knew me. My mind began trying process how each individual would react. And Gayle was right. In some of these, I could predict how they would react to me being with her, negatively or positively. For some, I didn't care, but others I did. I was still very close to my husband's family, his mom and dad and sister. And then there were my parents and brothers. One of the reasons I wasn't dating was that I feared how all of these people might react to there being a new face in the family, a virtual stranger ostensibly taking the place of my husband. There was the awkwardness of getting to know someone all over again, and then holding my breath, hoping they'd silently approve. I don't think any of them really expected me to remain a devoted widow for the remainder of my life, but there was the feeling that in dating someone new, I was giving to this person something that everyone else knew rightfully belonged to the man I first fell in love with. But making this situation with Gayle even more complicated was the simple fact of her gender. It would be difficult enough for me to introduce a new person into my family, but to then openly admit to being in a lesbian relationship could only exacerbate my fears and their potentially disastrous reaction. What started out as something so simple, seemingly so benign, was quickly becoming increasingly complicated and convoluted. "I want you to think about it for a while," whispered Gayle, leaning closer to me. I sniffled and nodded. "I will," I replied. She brought her arm around me and helped me stand, leading me out to the living room. While she walked over to the closet to retrieve my coat, I stood by the door with my arms folded, blinking back my tears. Gayle helped me put on my coat, and then zipped it up, tugging at the collar with a smile. "Think about it for a few days," she said, resting her hands on my shoulders. "Last night was beautiful. And you're a beautiful person. I'd love to be with you, but I want you to think about it, all right? Don't make a hasty decision." I took a deep breath and nodded. "I will," I replied. Gayle went to speak, but I quickly asked when I could see her again. She slowly shook her head. "Not for a while," she said. "A day or two?" I asked. She shook her head again. "No," she whispered. "Longer than that." "How long?" I whimpered, my eyes filling with tears. "When you're thinking clearly," she replied. "Whatever decision you make, I'll accept. But you know where I stand. I wanna be in a relationship with you, but I'm not gonna hide it, if I am, ok?" "Ok," I softly cried, as she wiped away my tears. Then Gayle pulled me into her arms, hugging me tightly and kissing my head, as I cried against her chest. "I love you so much," she whispered. We continued to embrace for a minute or so, and then she reluctantly pushed me away. She wiped her eyes and smiled and reached for the door, pulling it open for me. Slowly, I trudged through and paused in the hallway, turning to look at her. Gayle started to close the door and gave me a timid wave. "Bye," she said, as tears streaked down her face. I slowly raised my hand, crying, and mumbled goodbye. Then the door closed. My eyes clamped shut and I began weeping. On the other side of the door, I could hear Gayle cough and cry. On the drive home, I had to pull over twice, because the tears were blinding me. I'd sit and bawl, banging my head on the steering wheel, cursing the lot fate had handed me yet again. "It just can't be simple," I exclaimed, pounding my fist on my thigh. "Why?!" When I finally arrived home, I went straight to my room. Rachel walked out of the kitchen, when she heard me come in, but whatever she may have said to me was ignored. I closed the door and jerked my coat off, flinging it across the room. Then I sat on the bed and buried my face in my hands, working my way into another tearful fit. For the rest of the afternoon, I hid in my room alone with my thoughts. At one point, there was a soft knock on the door, but I told her to go away. I was sitting on the bed with my legs crossed, leaning my head onto my hand and picking at the fabric of the blanket below me. Then I closed my eyes with a long sigh and crawled off the bed, walking over to the door. I opened it and poked my head out just in time to see my daughter going back downstairs. I quickly wiped my eyes and brushed the hair from my face. "Hey," I called. She stopped and turned. "Sorry," I said. Rachel only shrugged. "You ok?" she muttered. My mouth drew into a deep frown and my face twisted, as I started crying again. "No," I bawled and slumped back against the door. Rachel bounded up the steps and over to me, putting her arms around me, and leading me into the bedroom. She sat next to me on the bed, hugging me closely. "What's wrong?" she asked. And so I told her everything. Everything that had been going through my mind, since I'd first met Gayle in the park. I told Rachel everything that had transpired between us, the touching, the smiles, the little gestures laden with innuendo. And I told her that I was in love with Gayle. I explained how the reality of that relationship was starting to sink in and how scared I was of how others might react to it. She sat and held my hand, listening intently and nodding now and then. And, when I finally got it all out, told her everything that was in my heart, my fears and joys, Rachel smiled and squeezed my hand in hers. "Not easy, is it?" she chuckled. I smirked and looked away, shaking my head. "No," I replied. "Not at all." "Wish I knew what to tell ya," she sighed, rubbing her hand on mine. I wiped my nose and turned to Rachel, asking if she loved Kate. She chuckled again and fell back onto the mattress, propping herself up on her elbows. "I dunno," she replied. "I like her and all, but I dunno if I'd say I love her." We talked for a while longer, but finally forced ourselves to walk downstairs. By now, it was early evening, so we fixed a quick dinner, sitting together at the kitchen table and talking quietly. Being a Saturday night, Rachel, of course, had plans with Kate. After helping with the dishes, she grabbed her coat and headed out the door, saying she would probably spend the night at her girlfriend's apartment. But, just as she was about to leave, she stopped and turned to me, as I sat on the couch. "If you wanna talk," she said. I smiled and nodded. "Ok," I replied. "Just call me or something, all right? I'll come home." "Thanks," I said. When I heard her car pull out of the driveway, I walked over to the television and turned it off. I made my way upstairs to my room, shut the door, and undressed. Standing at my dresser, I opened the top drawer and pulled out my pajamas. As I buttoned my shirt, my eyes drifted to the pictures of my husband sitting atop the dresser. I smiled warmly, and in that instant, thought about ending my life. Not seriously, however, but it did seem as though it might bring an end to a lot of the problems I'd been facing since his death. But, no, I couldn't do that. That, I knew, was just plain selfish and stupid. I brushed my teeth, walked downstairs to turn off the lights, and then returned to my room. Just as I was about to get into bed, I paused and kneeled down, pulling out a flat plastic tub from under the bed containing our family photo albums. I thumbed through them all, sometimes smiling, laughing a couple of times, wishing I could go back and relive all of those frozen memories. I glanced over at the clock on the nightstand. It was a few minutes to nine. I carefully replaced all the albums, and then pushed the tub back to its place under the bed and rose to my feet. Standing there for a moment, I stared at the bed, and then turned to walk downstairs. Down in the kitchen, I flipped on the light over the stove and stepped over to the phone. I picked up the receiver, dialed, and waited for someone to pick up the other end. I hooked my hair over my ear and walked over to a chair at the table to sit. "Mom? Hey, it's me." For the next hour and a half, I talked to my mom, and then my dad, telling them all about Gayle and what had been going on in my life. Our conversation went much better than I had expected. They were surprised, to say the least, but overwhelmingly understanding. But, as I did with my own daughter and Gayle had done with me, they kept asking if I was sure about this. I assured them I was, and they pledged to support me. That night, it took a long time before I fell asleep. I kept thinking of Gayle, wondering what she was doing. I wanted to call her so very badly. Just a few seconds of her soft voice was all I wanted, but she asked me to wait. That's fine, I thought. I'll do just that. And, in the meantime, I'll make a few more phone calls. The following afternoon, I called my husband's parents and had virtually the same conversation with them. As with my parents, they were rather shocked at first, but soon warmed up to the idea and said they only wanted Rachel and I to be happy. I wouldn't say they were entirely thrilled, but they were agreeable. And I could understand how they felt. It was the same thing I'd initially felt with my daughter. You think you know somebody, and then one day they surprise you. And, also like myself, they'd simply have to adjust to the idea of me being in a relationship with another woman. It wasn't their decision, after all, and I wasn't asking their permission. I was merely informing them. That attitude set the tone for the conversations I had with others over the next several days. I called a few of my husband's closer friends to let them know, not that I thought it was really any of their business, but it at least felt good to come clean about it, as opposed to trying to hide it from them or hope the rumors they'd eventually hear weren't overly exaggerated. What I wanted to do was set the record straight from the get go and not have to fret over whether someone I knew saw me holding Gayle's hand in public. At school, I told Diane, and she was immensely happy for me, which came as no great surprise. She'd always been very supportive. And I also told Gloria, the lady I sometimes shared hall-monitoring duties with. The only reason I told her was because she was somewhat of a gossip hound at school. Not that she spread rumors, but if she heard them and knew the truth of the matter, she was quick to set things straight. Gloria might have a tough exterior, but she was an honest and trustworthy person. And her reaction, when I explained it to her, was bland nonchalance. She merely looked up from reading her book, licked a finger and turned the page, saying, "Well, Jess, as long as you're happy, that's what counts." "Thanks," I replied with a broad grin. Gloria only held up a hand and waved me off, though I could see a smile on her face. By Friday, I'd informed everyone I thought necessary. Those that had the news would very likely, slowly and over time, tell others within my circle of friends and family, thus saving me a lot of phone calls and emotional angst. I only told those whom I knew I could trust with being honest and factual in relating what was going on and why. Earlier in the week, it took all the will power I could muster not to communicate with Gayle, whether through email or phone. But the time did seem to pass smoothly with each day and each new person I talked with. It wasn't until I was in bed at night that I had time to think about her. During the day, I was preparing my speech, rehearsing and making last minute adjustments to what I wanted to tell the next person on my list, fine-tuning the dialogue I had used with others and making slight modifications to fit the person next in line. So by the time Friday evening rolled around, everyone that needed to know knew that I was now a lesbian. While standing in the kitchen preparing dinner, Rachel came down from her room. "Need any help?" she chirped, plucking a slice of cucumber from the bowl in front of me and popping it in her mouth. "Nah," I replied. "Almost done." She twirled around and stepped over to the cupboard and pulled out a glass. "Oh," she exclaimed. "Forgot to tell ya." I was walking to the kitchen table with the bowl between my hands, when I glanced over at her by the refrigerator. She pulled out a carton of orange juice and came over to stand next to me, as she filled her glass. "Ok, and...?" Rachel glanced at me, saying, "Oh! Anyway, yeah, your girlfriend called, while you were at the store." My heart skipped a beat and started throbbing in my chest and up into my throat. With trembling hands, I set the bowl down and turned back to the sink. "What'd she want?" I asked, trying to mask the anxiety in my voice. "You, I assume," came the terse reply. I stood at the sink, holding a towel between my hands, and closed my eyes, trying to breath calmly. "What'd she say?" "Just wanted to know if you were home. I told her you went to the store, and she asked which one, and I said how the hell should I know." I smiled nervously and slowly shook my head, turning to her. Rachel was leaning against the table, holding the glass in her hand and picking at the contents of the bowl I'd set there. "How'd she sound?" I asked. Rachel tossed a carrot slice into her mouth and nodded. "Good," she mumbled, as she chewed. I sighed. Getting information out of this kid was sometimes like pulling teeth. I was about to start my usual line of questioning, when she spoke. "I think she misses you," she said, pulling out a chair to sit. I gulped. "Yeah?" I replied. "Uh huh. Said she hasn't heard from ya in a couple days and was wondering if you were still alive. I said yeah, you haven't hung yourself yet." My shoulders slumped, and I groaned. Rachel chuckled and glanced over at me. "I didn't really say that," she giggled. I stepped over to her, wringing the towel in my hands, and asked how she seemed. Rachel shrugged. "I think you should call her," she replied. "Maybe go see her or something... I dunno. None of my business. I just think..." But I was already running out to the living room. I grabbed my jacket and keys and shot out the door. I was still trying to put one more arm into my coat, as I threw the car in reverse, zipped out the driveway, and then screeched down the street. For the next ten minutes, my heart pounded rapidly and sweat rolled down my face. It seemed like everyone was conspiring against me, as I'd get stuck behind someone going too slow or hit every light just as it turned red. I mumbled and cursed under my breath, squeezing the steering wheel tightly between my fingers. And, when the light would finally changed green or the slow poke in front of me turned from my path, I jammed my foot down onto the gas pedal. The drive to her condo never seemed to take so long, but, when I finally arrived, I jumped out of the car and ran across the lawn to the door of her building. I flung it open and jumped inside, dashing up the steps with a clamor, tripping, cursing again, and lunged through the next door. By the time I got to her condo, I was breathing as if I'd just completed a marathon. I propped a hand against the wall, as I tried to catch my breath, my upper body heaving up and down. Then suddenly her door opened. Gayle must have heard all the commotion in the hallway, as I came into the building. She nearly jumped, when she saw me, and I grinned wide in reply. She was wearing a robe and holding a tissue to her nose. Then she clasped a hand to the front of the robe, poked her head out the door, looking up and down the hall, and then grabbed me by the shoulder and jerked me inside. I was still breathing hard, my heart still flailing away in my chest, but I was nothing but all smiles. I walked over to the sofa and flopped down, while Gayle stood by the door with an expression of surprise on her face. Then she wiped the tissue under her nose and carefully stepped over to a chair and sat down across from me. My eyes roamed lazily around the room, and, when they landed on her, I gave her a toothy smile. "Hey," I said whimsically, giving her a short wave. Gayle snickered and wiped her nose again. "Hey back," she replied, still maintaining a look of bewilderment. Then she cleared her throat. "So, what..." "I told everyone," I exclaimed. Gayle blinked. "Pardon? Who's..." "Everyone," I replied with a big nod. "I told everyone I knew that I loved you. Well, not every single person. Just the people closest and they'll probably tell everyone else." She chuckled, her eyebrows rising high, as she coughed and grinned wide, swiping the tissue under her nose. "Gotta cold?" I asked. Gayle nodded. "Yeah," she said. "Got it a few days ago." There was a long silence between us, and then she finally rose from the chair, pushing her hands in her pockets. "Want something to drink?" she asked, gesturing to the kitchen. I wagged my head from side to side and stood from the couch. As I stepped toward her, she held a hand up and backed away. "Don't want you to get it," she whispered. I grinned and stepped up to her, taking her hands in mine. "I don't care," I replied. Then I pushed myself up onto my toes and gently pressed my lips to hers. And, when our tongues met, we slowly wrapped our arms around each other, moaning and kissing deeply. "God, I've missed you," she sighed, as she lavished my neck with her tongue. I closed my eyes and held my head back, working the belt to her robe until I had it loosened, and then slipped my hands inside, pushing it down her shoulders. Her hand landed on my breast and squeezed. "Tell me," I gasped. "Tell me you love me." Gayle ran her tongue up my neck until our mouths brushed against each other. Her hands traced lightly up to either side of my face, holding it, as she planted soft kisses on my lips. "I do," she sighed. "I've missed so much, Jessie. Just tell me you're sure about this." I nodded, flicking my tongue against hers and running my hands along the small cones of her exposed breasts. "I am." Then we began kissing frantically, as she fumbled with the buttons on my blouse, and my hands went to my waist where I jerked open the buttons of my jeans and pushed them down. I kicked off my shoes, and in a matter of seconds, was standing naked in her arms. We kissed and moaned and touched each other, melting to the floor in a heap of searing flesh and desire. Mouths and tongues and fingers explored our bodies, penetrating deep within and eliciting heavy guttural groans and airy cries of passion. And, though there was a physical lust, a basic craving we had for one another, we spent a long time doing nothing more than lying on the floor in each other's arms, kissing and whispering the love we felt. I'm not sure how much time passed, but we dragged ourselves to the bathroom and stepped into the shower. Under the water, we continued to make love. We embraced, digging our hands deep between the other's legs, entwining our tongues, sucking and kissing, slipping fingers into anuses and nursing softly on taut scarlet nipples. And, when the frigid water chilled our skin, we stepped out of the shower and dried off, where we walked hand-in-hand to the bedroom. Gayle brought out her candles, and soon the room was filled with their soft amber glow. I was lying on the bed, when she came to me, and I reached out my hand for hers, guiding her body atop mine. We caressed each other's face and kissed lightly, giggling and hugging and rolling onto our sides. "I fell in love with you, the first time I saw you," she whispered. My heart fluttered and I closed my eyes, laying my head against the pillow and smiling. "I think I fell in love with you at your party," I replied softly. Gayle sat up, and I opened my eyes at her sudden movement. "Really?" she exclaimed, holding a hand to her chest in disbelief. I chuckled. "Really," I replied. She dropped her jaw and gazed around the room. "Wow," she muttered. "What?" I replied with a tempered laugh. Gayle turned her eyes back to mine, saying, "That was the second time I fell in love with you." I giggled, pulling my knees up, and rolled on top of her, kissing her face and neck, until once more our passion overcame us and erupted into sensual lovemaking. And so began my new life with Gayle. A few years later, Gayle and I were walking into the house with our suitcases. We lugged them up the stairs, me laughing and struggling with mine, while she passed me on the steps, scolding me, and saying she had warned me not to pack so much. It had been my home, but now Gayle shared it with me. Rachel had graduated two years prior and moved off to start a new job in a new city with her new husband. It turned out she wasn't quite the lesbian she'd once thought, and, when she entered graduate school, Kate moved on, as well, and Rachel fell in love for real this time with someone new. And now Gayle and I were returning home from their wedding, which we used as an excuse to take an entire week off for vacation. My friends and family took some time adjusting to the relationship I had with her, but it wasn't nearly as daunting as any of us had supposed. Gayle was graceful and polite and full of charm, and it was difficult to resist not warming up to her. But what really filled my heart with joy, was when everyone, including my husband's parents, hugged her, as we departed the wedding, and told her how happy they were that I had found such a wonderful person to be with. That evening, as we sat next to one another at the kitchen table over dinner, Gayle set her fork down and turned to me. "Mow what?" she mumbled. I rolled my eyes and nudged her with my elbow. "Don't talk with your mouth full," I snorted. "Sowwy," she snickered, still chewing. She reached for her glass and took a long gulp. "I was thinking," she said. "I'm coming up on forty pretty soon here." I nodded and chewed. "Mm hm," I replied with a wink. "Well," she sighed, dabbing a napkin on her lips. "What would you think about me being pregnant?" I set my fork down and slowly turned to her. I swallowed, replying, "Really?" She nodded happily, and I blinked a few times, saying, "I think that'd be great. You mean at the hospital? The fertility clinic?" Gayle pushed her plate forward, and then folded her arms on the table. "Yeah," she said. "I've been thinking about it for a while now, but this last week sorta made me put some serious thought into it." I set my glass down and nodded. "Yeah," I replied. "God, yes. We could set up everything for the tot in Rachel's old room. That'd be wonderful. I think you'd make a fantastic mom." Gayle blushed and dropped her face, brushing the hair from her eyes. I continued eating, but could see her staring at me from the corner of my eye. I turned to her, and she grinned. "What?" I chuckled. She took a deep breath and looked down into her lap, playfully kicking her feet under the table. "Something else I've been thinking about," she replied. Gayle hesitated, and then raised her eyes, giving me a devious grin. She gazed at me in silence for a moment, and then reached down for my hand and helped me stand. "C'mere," she said, leading me out to the living room where she had me sit on the couch. "Just stay right here," she said anxiously. "I'll be right back." I wagged my head up and down, curious as to what Gayle was doing. Then she quickly turned to dash upstairs. I could hear her moving around in the bedroom and looked up the steps. Her shadow darted quickly against the wall opposite the door, and I chuckled. "What're ya doing?" I called. "Hold your horses!" she replied. A minute later, she emerged from the bedroom and tromped down the steps, holding a hand behind her back. My heart started racing and my hands began trembling on my knees, as she approached me with a broad grin on her face. My mouth drew into a deep frown and tears welled in my eyes. Gayle kneeled on the floor in front of me, and I slapped a hand across my mouth and started crying. And, when she slowly pulled out the hand from behind her back revealing a tiny black box, I bawled and nodded, leaping from the couch and throwing my arms around her. "Yes!" I cried, as we toppled to the floor in a heap. END * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than a trusted partner. You only have one body per lifetime, so take good care of it! * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Kristen's collection - Directory 38