Chapter 4

The body wash she lathers into her hands has traces of ginger and patchouli in its fragrance. It feels warm and soft against my breasts as she runs her palms over them before running her hands over my whole body. Her fingers caress my cheeks and forehead, infusing the relaxing scent into my face before wiping it with a soft washcloth.

She continues to wash me, my body cradled against her, almost weightless in the warmth. I begin to drift toward sleep as her hands stroke my thighs, but her movements are stoking a warmth within me that has nothing to do with the heater that keeps the water at body temperature. As her fingers begin to slide up and down my labia I feel her breath on my neck, then the scratch of her teeth.

“Are you having naughty thoughts?” I ask.

“Wanting to make my lover come isn’t naughty,” Lauren says.

I’m still tired as hell, but excitement is tightening the skin of my chest. My arms drift in the water as I draw them inward until my fingers can flick against my nipples. That makes my breath catch. I start to rub them, feeling them harden to my touch.

The progression to climax is slow and smooth, but Lauren seems determined to succeed. One finger begins to circle my clit, while her other hand rubs my taint. My hips rock of their own volition, pushing me into her touch.

Releasing my nipples, I reach behind my head to run my hands through Lauren’s hair. Her thighs push my bum higher until my sex is at the surface of the water, and I feel like I’m floating.

I’m still not feeling certain that I’ll be able to come when the spiky tension of impending climax grips my sex. My arse lifts from the water as my hips twist, and I groan with the thrill of the ripples in my sex.

Lauren continues to keep me squirming in her arms until I sink back into the water, then gives me time to recover until my thighs respond to my commands.

I managed to stagger upright long enough to dry off. Only when we’re both under the sheets, our bodies in contact, do I kiss her. It isn’t for long enough, because I’m about to pass out, but I think she understands how much love was behind it.

The coffee is still too hot to drink much, but I manage to slurp.

“So what about the woman?” Lauren asks. “Courtney?”

“The news site won’t be updated yet, but I’m sure she has a blog,” I say. “I’m not sure where. All the hits I’m getting are to the site.”

“What’s her full name?” asks Lauren, entering it as I give it to her. “Didn’t she leave a card?”

“I was too overwhelmed to think of that,” I reply.

“Got her,” she says. “My Google-fu remains the strongest.”

Laughing, I roll my eyes, then enter the URL she gives me.

“Why do lesbians have to lesbian?” I say. “That’s not a promising title, is it?”

We both skim her blog entry. Full review to follow on the news site on Wednesday. I’ve been expecting that. She doesn’t pollute the blog entry with my name, I’m just a “local artist,” which seems like pointless obfuscation, since the review will appear on Wednesday. “I’m a competent, potentially masterful artist, whose skill is veiled because of the need to convey my lesbianism in every image.” I read her words aloud in the first person.

“What about the male same sex wedding photos?” Lauren gripes.

“If you look closely enough, you’ll even find a few straight couples,” I concur. “This isn’t a review, it’s an agenda. You know, the news site isn’t even conservative.”

“‘A lesbian peed in my Wheaties’,” Lauren suggests, then snorts.

I sigh and read the rest. “It could be worse,” I say. “My work is competent, if unoriginal. I think that’s what Wednesday’s review will say. If she goes on a rampage about lesbianism in the review she won’t be treated well.”

“What about the watercolors?” Lauren asks. “How are they lesbian propaganda?”

“Maybe she didn’t make it to that room,” I say. “Oh, wait, no, she must have done, because of the bust that shows I’m obsessed with my late wife. That was in the same room. My obsession includes a book of sketches of her…”

“Well, thank you for that,” Lauren says, wryly. “I thought Nicole’s sketches were safely in your studio.”

“They are,” I agree. Lauren has seen them, of course, even the private book. I saw her wiping her eyes as she studied some of those drawings. “And a mobile that celebrates her life, employing the overused concept of a light in one’s life that fades with death.” I shake my head. “The name of the piece is ‘Timezones’.”

“It sounds like she wants everything to fit her view of you as an obsessive lesbian, and whatever doesn’t isn’t worth considering, so it can’t change her outlook,” Lauren offers.

“I think so,” I agree. “All in all, it could have been worse. She says my work is predictable. That’s… in all honesty, it’s what I wanted to present. I’d prefer to build on being an artist, even an unimaginative one. If I’d shown more of my abstracts and darker pieces I wouldn’t be ‘unimaginative’, I’d be a ‘rich dilletante’. That’s a reputation I wouldn’t be able to turn around. Being staid avoids traps, and eventually no one will care how adventurous I want to be.”

Lauren nods slowly. After a while, she says, “I suppose it’s good news, then.”

“More important will be Kelea’s view when the show closes,” I say. “We’ll know more of my future in January.” In several ways, that is… but I don’t voice those thoughts.

We sip our coffee for a while. It’s very good, even if it isn’t tea.

“Courtney’s convinced me of one thing,” I say.

“What’s that?” Lauren asks.

“I’m going to ask Joe if I can do a photoshoot of Jon. With the band, sure, but of himself for band publicity. I think they can use it, and I can point at it and say, “See, not all lesbians.” My work does tend to feature lesbians, because of word of mouth and other photographers distancing themselves from same-sex weddings, but I’ve never attempted to impose a lesbian agenda either on my photos or with my photos.”

“Jon’s a good looking guy,” Lauren says. “That could be a popular project.”

“Though…” I muse, a few minutes later, “It’s not impossible that there’s truth to Courtney’s thoughts on ‘Timezones’. I don’t see it, but once a work leaves my hands it’s no longer mine to interpret. I did originally fab the glass hearts for a project that was based on Nicole and me.” I give Lauren an apologetic glance. “You already share so much of my life with Nicole. I don’t want that interpretation to be true, but I can’t say there’s no validity.”

“She’s part of your life, honey,” Lauren says, her eyes soft. “I see the sculpture being about each of us bringing light to the other, but if she’s part of you, she’s part of that, too. I’m not threatened by a critic trying to make it more about her. You would have been a different person without Nicole, and it’s the you who you are now that I’m in love with. Please don’t ever feel that I’m jealous or resent her presence in our life.”

“I love you,” I say.

As always, her grin is cheeky when she replies, “I know. Now, shall we shower and find brunch?”

“Make love to me again,” I say, “and I’ll do anything you want.”

“I’m not nervous,” she says. “I just want to be ready. I need to have all of the tees crossed and eyes dotted.”

I barely have the energy to chuckle, but I do. “I’m sure that your thoroughness serves you well at your job, but we’re going to be fine,” I say. “Nothing is allowed to go wrong on our trip.” Including the answer you’re going to give me. I’m certain of that. Well, nearly certain. That can’t go wrong. That answer will define the rest of my life. I stroke my fingers down her bum to her upper thighs.

“I’m not worried,” she says. “I trust you.”

She nuzzles my neck as I run my fingers over the firm muscles at the top of her left thigh. She’s still damp at the center, and I moisten my fingers with her wetness, then slide them over the back of her thighs again. I feel rather than hear the contentment in her chest. I imagine I can feel her lips smiling against my neck. I shift her body a little higher, so that I don’t have to stretch so far to feel the damp skin, then I draw her left leg outward so that her knee slips down to the bed, and start drawing circles on her pussy, running a fingertip up one side of her slit, then down the other. I love the way her body feels to my touch. As exhausted as I am, feeling the delicious softness and excited firmness of her body against mine, I just can’t resist touching her.

Lauren snuggles even closer, her lips brushing my neck. Her labia feel slippery under my fingertips. As I continue lightly brushing her sex with my fingertips, I feel her hips moving slowly, pressing the uppermost part of her sex into my thigh. She makes a soft sound, her lips parting against my neck. I slide my fingers inside her entrance, feeling her warmth. Her teeth graze the base of my neck, and she tilts her hips again, bearing down on my fingers.

Her breathing becomes deeper, and her sex rocks against my leg. She’s pushing into my fingers, her breasts compacting mine. I return the pressure of her body against my fingers, letting them slide into her. I feel her breath against my neck, her lips and tongue dancing over my skin. If she leaves a hickey I’m going to have to hide it from my parents, but I’m not going to deny her whatever she wants.

Her whole body is rocking now, driving herself down onto my hand. My thigh is damp beneath her now, my fingers moving easily inside her. She’s starting to moan. Her mouth is open, wide kisses engulfing my jaw and my neck, teeth closing on my earlobe. The motion of her hips is jerky and fast as she uses my stationary finger and my thigh against her clit to grind herself to orgasm.

Lauren cries out, then buries her face into my neck as her body shakes above me. With each wave, her breasts quiver against mine. She snuffles as her breathing slows. I love the feel of her body against mine even as she slumps down onto me, the final traces of energy leaching away.

“God, Mika,” she whispers, when I’m all but certain she’s fallen asleep on me. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” I whisper back. “I always will.”