Chapter 4

“Oh, you don’t have to?” Whitney said, voice light as Polly spread Whitney’s buttocks apart with her hands.

Polly lapped at Whitney’s light brown ring, tracing around and around the ring of flesh with the tip of her tongue. Then, pushing Whitney’s buttocks further apart, Polly jammed her tongue into Whitney’s rectum. The taste was an earthy taste. Using her thumbs, Polly opened Whitney’s anus more and drove her tongue into Whitney’s anal passage as far as she could extend her tongue.

Rolling Whitney onto her back again, Polly again admired the girl’s beauty, then bent and kissed Whitney’s mouth. Lying on top of Whitney, Polly’s bald mound pressed firmly against Whitney’s thatch of pubic hair. Polly ground her crotch against Whitney’s crotch until both girls groaned in orgasm.

With one more kiss to Whitney’s lips, Polly wiggled down and brought her mouth to Whitney’s wet folds. The smell was intoxicating; the smell of musk and sweat and salt. Whitney’s taste was a heady one and Polly lapped at Whitney’s sex.

“Mm, oh, oh Polly, yes,” Whitney encouraged as Polly thrust two fingers into Whitney’s kitty while her tongue batted at Whitney’s fat clitoris.

“Mm, mm, ack! ACK! Aieegh!” Whitney screamed in orgasm.

Whitney’s thighs had wrapped around Polly’s head as her orgasm neared. Polly still heard Whitney’s scream of pleasure. Her heart leapt in her chest, knowing that she was able to bring pleasure to Whitney.

Polly licked and fingered Whitney to a second orgasm before crawling her way forward. Again, Polly pressed her mound against Whitney’s crotch, pressed her breasts against Whitney’s breasts and softly kissed the beautiful young woman.

“That was…” Whitney murmured dreamily.

“Yeah, yeah it was,” Polly agreed.

Chad, Polly’s most recent boyfriend was not one to cuddle after sex, making love. Whitney obviously was, though. She lay next to Polly, curling her leg over Polly’s leg, placing her head on Polly’s shoulder. Whitney’s hand gently trailed along Polly’s belly, her fingertips just softly trailing up and down along Polly’s flesh.

“I’m ’bout to fall asleep,” Whitney whispered, warm breath tickling Polly’s ear.

Polly found a short combed cotton shift and matching shorts for Whitney to sleep in. Whitney insisted on brushing her teeth before she would go to bed. Thankfully, Polly had one of those toothbrushes the dentist’s office gave to her, still in the plastic wrap.

Then Whitney knelt by her side of the bed and silently did the sign of the cross. Polly watched, slightly bemused as Whitney silently moved her lips, obviously reciting a prayer.

“How can you pray? What we did was sinful,” Polly wanted to ask Whitney.

According to her mother, what she and Whitney had done was sinful, and disgusting. According to Father Goldbrithe, what she and Whitney had done was deviant, a perversion of God’s purpose for her as a daughter of God.

“Now, how you know that’s not my side of the bed?” Polly playfully asked as Whitney wiggled under the comforter.

“That side’s closest to the bathroom, there’s two pillows on that side and only one on this side, and your alarm clock’s right there,” Whitney said. “And you’re left handed; you’d want the clock to be at your left hand when you turn off the alarm.”

“I, my last boyfriend? I don’t know how many times he slept here, and I know he never even noticed any of that,” Polly said, turning off her bedside lamp.

“He wasn’t a woman,” Whitney said simply, moving her pillow closer to Polly’s side of the bed.

Polly wanted to hate Whitney; it was six thirty on a Saturday morning. Polly’s day to sleep late. She couldn’t sleep late on Sunday morning; she needed to meet her mother at St. Richard’s in DeGarde for nine o’clock Mass. But Whitney was in the kitchen; the clang of pans and the smell of coffee and bacon had roused Polly from a deep, contented sleep.

“Potato hash scramble,” Whitney announced cheerfully when Polly staggered into the kitchen, murder on her mind.

“How, how in God’s name can you look that damned happy at six thirty in the morning?” Polly grumbled, grabbing her favorite mug out of the cabinet.

“Easy,” Whitney giggled.

Whitney indicated the stove, where a large skillet sat, sizzling merrily.

“I’m making breakfast for you,” Whitney explained.

“And?” Polly asked, splashing a good amount of creamer into her coffee.

“I’m making breakfast for you,” Whitney said again, grabbing two plates. “And that makes me happy.”

“I uh, oh,” Polly said.

“Come on, Lefty,” Whitney bubbled, putting two plates onto the kitchen table.

“Whatever, Blondie,” Polly said.

That simple answer set Whitney into a fit of elated giggles. She clutched Polly’s hand happily when Polly sat down.

“Blondie?” Whitney enthused.

Whitney pointed to her breasts, which were spilling out of the top of Polly’s simple shift. Polly looked at Whitney’s large breasts, then into Whitney’s sparkling green eyes.

“Because of these? The, my nickname? In high school? The girls called me ‘Tit-ney,'” Whitney admitted.

“That, that’s cruel,” Polly said.

“Blondie,” Whitney giggled to herself and dug into her food with gusto.

“Now, when you ready, you need take me home,” Whitney said as Polly scraped the last bite of her food onto her fork. “We’re doing a reset today? And Mr. Gerrard? He wants me there in case they need anything?”

“Oh! What time you got to be there?” Polly asked, chewing and swallowing quickly.

“Nine, but Mr. Gerrard? He says if your ten minutes early you’re five minutes late,” Whitney admitted.

In the light of the early morning, Whitney’s red dress and thigh high stockings and pumps looked whorish. Polly wondered if any of her neighbors would be up this early, would see her pulling out of her garage with a beautiful blonde woman that was dressed like a whore.

“I uh,” Polly stammered, unsure of what to say as she pulled up to Whitney’s apartment building.

“Thanks,” Whitney said happily, getting out of Polly’s car.

“I, that’s it?” Polly wanted to scream. “We just…and you just get out the car with a ‘thanks?'”

Polly watched Whitney climbing the stairs, breasts bouncing and buttocks swaying. Then with a cheerful wave, Whitney entered an apartment. Polly backed out of the parking lot and drove home.

Home again, Polly returned to her warm, comfortable bed. She burrowed down and fell fast asleep.

Greg Porter’s annoying, incessant whining electric lawnmower roused Polly from a deep sleep. Polly burrowed underneath her comforter but Greg seemed to be cutting the grass right underneath Polly’s window, stuck on one particular spot.

“God, really?” Polly screamed at her bedroom window. “Porter, you suck!”

Seeing that it was 9″18, Polly wondered if Whitney had managed to get to work in time. Thinking of her beautiful houseguest, Polly brought her right hand to her breast and her left hand to her crotch.

“Mm,” Polly sighed as she slowly masturbated.

“Wonder how many ‘Hail Marys’ Father Goldbrithe would give me for that,” Polly giggled as she teased her clitoris with her fingers.

Then Polly cleaned her home. The kitchen was scrubbed, counters and floors and stove and refrigerator were wiped down with bleach and water. Each bathroom was likewise scrubbed; even the bathroom that no one had been in since Polly moved into her home.

“Hello?” Polly answered her cell.

“Sup Lefty?” Whitney giggled.

“Blondie! You, you’re already getting off?” Polly asked, seeing that it was 12:34 in the afternoon.

“Huh? No, no, Mr. Gerrard’s sent me to Junior’s for lunch; he’s buying everyone’s lunch?” Whitney said.

“Well, that was pretty nice of him,” Polly agreed.

“Anyway, you busy? You doing anything tonight?” Whitney asked.

“I, no, no, nothing,” Polly agreed.

“I can come over?” Whitney asked, voice breathless with excitement.

“Sure; what time?” Polly asked, wondering if she’d have time to spray foam cleaner on her quite clean carpets.

“Mm, we, Mr. Gerrard said we’d be finished by four? Four thirty? Um, six?” Whitney asked.

“Six? Oh, okay, Blondie,” Polly said, digging the can of foam cleaner from the cabinet. “See you at six.”

“Blondie!” Whitney giggled happily. “Vye, Lefty.”

“Bye,” Polly said to empty air.

While the foam settled into the carpet, Polly microwaved a frozen dinner. After running the vacuum cleaner over the carpet, Polly showered and was about to shrug on her usual Saturday lazing about clothing. At the last moment, she put on her white satin bra and matching thong panties. Over that, Polly wore a soft, pretty blouse and some nice slacks.

At five minutes to six, Polly put her porch light on, even though the sun was just beginning to slip below the fringe of trees to the west. There was still twenty five minutes of sunlight left. But Polly just felt better if Whitney would have the light on to help her negotiate the three steps up from walkway to front door.

Three minutes after six, a small Toyota pulled up to the curb in front of Polly’s house. Polly felt a shiver run through her as a smiling Whitney got out of the car, clutching a large cloth bag to her chest. Again, Polly hoped none of her neighbors were peeking through their windows; Whitney’s clothing was tawdry.

The pale blonde was wearing a long sleeved dress of black stretchy shiny material that came down to mid-thigh. A large chrome ring nestled between Whitney’s breasts, drawing attention to the two large globes on Whitney’s chest. Whitney’s legs were bare; Polly was grateful for this. She could just imagine the beauty wearing fishnet stockings with the gaudy dress. On Whitney’s feet were her black patent leather pumps.

“Hi!” Whitney laughed happily when Polly jerked the door open.

“Hi!” Polly echoed, ushering the girl into the home.

“Hi,” Whitney repeated and kissed Polly on her lips. “Hi, miss me? I missed you; oh, work? I swear, Mr. Gerrard? He’s like super smart, but he’s so hard to work for.”

“What’s in the bag?” Polly asked.

“Oh, don’t look in it, please? It’s, I, I got a surprise in it, okay?” Whitney enthused, putting the bag onto Polly’s light blue and beige velour loveseat.

“Oh, okay,” Polly said, looking at Whitney’s dress again. “Is that, that’s a zipper?”

“Uh huh,” Whitney giggled and tugged the ring down, revealing more and more of her flesh.

Whitney then pulled a single grocery bag from the large cloth bag. Abruptly, Whitney turned and scampered to the kitchen. Polly followed as Whitney squatted and pulled one of Polly’s storage containers out of the meat drawer.

“We’re having fajitas tonight,” Whitney declared, grabbing two large pans from the ceiling hooks.

“I, what is that?” Polly asked.

“Fajitas? It’s…” Whitney started.

“No, I know what a fajita is, you goof,” Polly laughed. “I meant…”

“Don’t,” Whitney said, losing her smile. “Don’t call me a goof.”

“What? What’s wrong?” Polly asked, seeing the hurt look on Whitney’s face.

“I, I know I’m not that smart,” Whitney whispered. “People make fun of me all the time. But you…”

“Whitney, I, I’m so sorry,” Polly said, hugging the woman. “I, I wasn’t making fun of you, I promise.”

Polly put her hands on either side of Whitney’s face. She stared intently into Whitney’s brilliant green eyes and saw the hurt in Whitney’s eyes. She softly kissed Whitney’s lips.

“I am so, so sorry; I never want to hurt you,” Polly whispered.

“It’s just, people always call me stupid, or dopey, or goofy and it hurts; it really hurts,” Whitney whispered.

Polly kissed Whitney’s lips again. She pulled the unresisting girl in for another long hug. Whitney’s arms wound around Polly’s torso and the two women held one another.

“And, uh, I think you’re pretty damned smart. You, you observe things most other people miss,” Polly enthused.

Releasing Whitney, Polly tapped on the storage container. Whitney hurried to reduce the heat on the skillets

“I meant, what’s that? What’s in here?” Polly explained.

“Oh! You had some sirloin strips and the package said it was going to go bad?” Whitney said and opened the container. “So, I put it in this marinade? You need to get some more lines next time you do your groceries.”

“Huh? Oh! Oh yeah, Trey, Trey Martinez was supposed to come over and grill those hmm, Tuesday?” Polly said.

“What happened?” Whitney asked laying the pink meat onto the screaming hot skillet.

“Appendicitis,” Polly said. “Ex-wife drove all the way from Norwill, Tennessee and they decided to give it another go.”

From the grocery bag, Whitney pulled a package of corn tortillas, a jar of chunky salsa and an avocado. Polly stepped back and again watched the ballet of Whitney’s food preparation.

“I hope you’re not one of those that has to burn their meat?” Whitney said as she transferred the meat from the skillet to a platter. “Anything more than medium? Robs the food of flavor?”

“Whitney, I’ve had fajitas at Manny’s don’t look that good,” Polly marveled.

“Oh!” Whitney complained, stomping her foot. “Oh, Whitney! How could you forget?”

“Forget what?” Polly asked.

“Margaritas!” Whitney said.

“Next time,” Polly soothed as she quickly made a pitcher of lemonade.

“Go ahead,” Whitney conceded. “Go ahead. Call me a goof.”

“I will not,” Polly said.

They ate the delicious meal. Whitney’s good mood returned as Polly praised her cooking. Soon, she was telling Polly about the massive computer reset they’d performed that day.