Cindy

Two days later, she turned on the television again. This time, I caught it "live." She watched the weather channel for ten minutes, then actually watched Persian news for ten minutes, as if pretending that all she was doing was sampling each channel equally. Swallowing, she finally flipped to my special Girls Who Like Girls channel.

Her futon was folded to couch; she leaned back, splaying her knees wide. The film was TOGETHER, a classic from the early '70s about an aunt and niece who discover their feelings for each other. The scene Cindy had happened upon was where the aunt was slowly finishing the dishes, and the niece was preparing for bed, waiting for her.

Glancing at my other monitor, I saw what Cindy saw: the young girl, slipping out of her sun dress, combing her hair naked in the full mirror. Cindy exhaled, and suddenly stood up--oh, no, she was going to turn off the TV. But she only killed the light. She settled back on the futon, as before.

Maybe Cindy felt more comfortable in the dark; certainly she must have thought she was in complete darkness, as when she undressed. But the camera I'd bought was a top-of-the-line model. It was especially suited to low light; and the illumination from the TV was more than enough to render Cindy in crisp, clear color.

The niece was under the sheets; the aunt walked in, looked at her, and smiled. Of course, Cindy didn't know they were aunt and niece. If she did, she might have turned it off, for sure. All Cindy saw was an older woman slowly unbuttoning and removing her blouse, before pushing down her skirt. In her panties, she joined her smiling niece under the sheets, and they kissed.

As the two women made out and their hands moved under the linen, I watched Cindy's hand creep, upwards this time. She began to softly massage the underside of her breast, lightly at first, as if she was only scratching an itch. But as the women in the film grew more passionate, and the sheet was pulled down, Cindy began to massage herself harder, kneading, rubbing her nipple between thumb and forefinger under her shirt's fabric.

I reached under my own shirt and mimicked Cindy. It was so good. And then, it got better: Cindy sighed, with either despair or resignation, and unzipped her jeans.

As the aunt in the film sucked the girl's nipples, Cindy's fingers moved slowly over her plain white panties as her other hand continued massaging her breast. I quickly removed my own pants, trembling. The aunt's kisses travelled down the girl's tummy; she licked her navel. Cindy closed her eyes, turned her head, and slipped her fingers down under the elastic band of her panties.

Cindy kept her eyes shut, but the moans of the women spurred her on. I caught a glimpse of her blond bush as she forced her panties down farther, rubbing in ever-faster circles. A loud groan escaped her lips. She stopped, breathing heavily.

I realized I was masturbating, too. The orgasm hit me with ferocity, and I bit off a scream. I was afraid she would hear. When I opened my eyes, Cindy's room was dark. She had turned off the TV, and would soon be asleep.

The following days were beautiful. Cindy made a ritual out of turning off the lights, removing her clothes, settling on the futon and watching the girl channel. I stared, mesmerized, as her red fingernails stroked and teased through her thick blonde thatch of pubic hair, spreading her lips wide. Her tongue was bit between her teeth in a cute and sexy expression as she watched and masturbated herself to ecstasy. I wanted to kiss her face.

One afternoon, I got a shock. Reading on the bed-folded futon, Cindy abruptly snapped her textbook shut and rolled over. Standing, she opened the closet and retrieved the box. I grinned as she looked through the magazines.

Slowly, staring at an open magazine on the mattress, she began to remove her clothes. It was the first time she had ever undressed with the light on. Of course; she couldn't read in the dark. Naked, she settled onto her back, holding the magazine above her face with one hand and rubbing her labia .

Then, the surprise: she reached under the bed to retrieve what I first thought was a small flashlight. But no. It was a toy. So that's what was giving her those moans, I thought! Staring at a picture of two women kissing in a pool, she moved the toy over her vaginal lips, slowly, before gently inserting it inside.

I stared unblinking as the thing disappeared inside her, again and again. I never liked dildos or toys, myself; I always considered it a man's fantasy of what a woman enjoys. But it takes all kinds. As Cindy's strokes became deeper, she moaned, almost crying. Her torso began to shiver, jiggling her big beautiful breasts; the tremors extended to her entire body, and tears squeezed from her clamped-closed eyelids as she climaxed. Her arms fell to her sides, limp. After many seconds, she rolled on her side and curled up, fast asleep.

A few days later, to my surprise, she walked into the kitchen. She had never before entered "my" part of the house.

"Hi," she said uncomfortably. "Are you busy?"

I set my sandwich back on its plate. "Not at all. Sit down."

"I don't want to disturb your meal..." I persuaded her to sit at the table with me. She got to the point:

"It's about that heater in my room."

Outwardly I was calm, but inwardly I was shrieking with panic. She continued:

"It doesn't work. And it's getting a little chilly these days, and I was wondering if maybe there's a trick to turning it on..."

"Oh no," I said, breathing relief. "Please, don't waste any more time on it. It doesn't work, at all. But how about this: I'll get you a small space heater, today. I'm sorry, I didn't know you were cold."

"Only yesterday. Guess it's the winter coming." She smiled. "Thanks." She moved her chair back to stand up.

"Hey," I interjected. "You're from Oklahoma, aren't you?"

"Uh-huh." She sat back down.

"Well, I'm doing a study on government in Oklahoma. I'd appreciate it if I could pick your brain a little."

"Shoot, I don't know nothin' about Okie government. I wouldn't be..."

"No, no," I said, trying to make it up as I went along. "I'm more interested in the culture, the people. Government extends from the people, in a democracy. That's why each state government is different... They're different cultures... You can't understand the apparatus of governing unless you understand the people," I said, sounding ridiculous.

Only, it didn't sound ridiculous to her. "Sure, why, I never thought of that. Government extends from the people," she repeated. I wished I'd known all along that talking b.s. would make her so impressed. She added, "Well, I can tell you a little about the town I come from some time."

"Great. How about tomorrow? Say, after dinner. Just come up any time after seven, I'll bring my notes." She agreed, and went back to her room.

The next evening I waited for her in the living room, with piles of books, a pad of paper, and a tight t-shirt with matching skirt I'd bought that afternoon.

"Hi," she said, stepping through the doorway. She glanced around, ill at ease. I had restrained myself: no fire in the fireplace, no wine, no romantic music. I'd come this far; the prize was near, oh so very near, and I knew that this was the crucial make-or-break moment. If I scared her, it was all over.

"Hi," I replied. "Just a minute, OK?" She nodded. I pretended to finish writing a long note, ignoring her. I felt her tension subside. Finally, I turned to her and smiled.

We spoke a long time. She told me of her town, the people who ran it, her family. Before we knew it, it was nearly midnight.

"Hey, it's late," I said. "How about we continue this tomorrow? I want to know more."

"Sure. Never imagined anybody'd be so interested in Rhonesboro. You want me to write anything up?"

"No no," I laughed. "This isn't school." AT LEAST IT ISN'T YET--FOR YOU, I thought wickedly.

The next night, she told me more about her town and her family, gradually confiding more personal things. I heard about her first boyfriend, her second boyfriend, the crush who used her. She hadn't had much luck with men.

"You sure this is helping you?" she asked. I nodded, and made a note.

The next night, I asked her if she was cold in the room we were in. "Well actually," she admitted, "I was thinking on getting a sweater from below. I'm not accustomed to this chilly California weather."

"If you think this is chilly, you should go to Massachusetts, where I'm from," I retorted. "Still, we can make a fire. You want to do it? I'm just finishing some notes." I indicated the wood stacked next to the fireplace.

She made a cheery fire in no time, and turned back with a smile. We sat on the floor.

Our after-dinner conversations became a routine: at seven, she would enter and make a fire. I would have a bottle of wine ready. Cindy wasn't a "big wine drinking girl," as she said, but she learned to appreciate good red. And my wardrobe stayed tight. I spent easily a thousand dollars on flattering blouses, skirts and pants.

Gradually, I started to take up most of the conversation. I told her about the underpinnings of government; Cindy was very patriotic, and seemed surprised to learn that the true strength of the U.S. was in its constitution, not its military.

"The Roman Empire had the greatest army in its time. No one could come close," I told her. "But it fell. How? Not from outside, but inside. It didn't have a constitution, or even a bill of rights."

"Wow," she said.

As the weeks passed, Cindy began to ask me for advice: what classes to take, what career paths to consider, even what gym to join. I started to compliment her on things, not least of all her appearance; she would blush and smile. And when later I watched her masturbating in the privacy of her room, I wondered if she ever was thinking of me.

One night, we had had quite a bit of wine. It grew late, and our laughter died down. There was a silence, not an uncomfortable one, an easy lull between us.

I noticed, to my surprise, she was staring at my cleavage. "Do you like what you see?" I teased, bending down to give her a better view. The wine had addled my discretion. It had addled hers, too.

"Yeah, I do," she said simply. "Stacey..." I always melted when she said my name, in her southern drawn-out way: Staaaaceeee.... "How... I mean, how did you know when you, you kind of liked girls?"

I laughed. Then I saw she was almost hurt. I quickly composed myself. "Well, let's see... I was twelve."

"Twelve!"

"Mm-hmmm. I was watching BEWITCHED. The TV show? And Elizabeth Montgomery's sexy witch sister appeared, all in black... And I thought, 'Oh yeah.'"

This time it was Cindy who nearly fell over laughing. "Naw..."

"Swear."

Cindy grew serious. "I just... I don't know how I'd be a, you know, lesbian." She quickly added, as if it were academic: "Isn't it hard for you?"

"I don't care what people think... But I have a theory. People like people. Sometimes, people like people in certain ways. And if that way is a kissing and touching way, and the people are of the same sex, that isn't necessarily being a lesbian."

"Uh-huh." She didn't get it.

"If a woman decides to make love to another woman," I explained, jettisoning subtleties, "That doesn't make her gay."

"No?"

"No. She might just do a one-time thing. Or she may be bisexual. Love-making between two women is a beautiful experience," I segued, deciding to let my instincts take over.

"Mn." Cindy looked down at her cleavage, just like the day at the coffee shop.

"Cindy, you have the most beautiful breasts. I haven't seen any woman who even comes close. It's the way you carry them, it's... It's just YOU. You're so beautiful," I gushed, unable to hold back any longer. "God, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen."

She was quiet for a long time, and I guessed I had gone too far. WELL, I'M NOT SORRY, I thought. IT HAD TO COME OUT SOONER OR LATER AND...

"Would you like to see them?" she asked quietly.

"...Yes."

She slowly pulled her shirt over her head, and let it drop onto the carpet. Not taking her eyes off mine, she reached behind and unclipped her white bra. It slipped down off her chest, and her firm soft breasts were there, right there.

"Come to me," I whispered.

She slid over on her knees, and we kissed, shyly. I unbuttoned my own shirt, and in a moment of bravado threw my bra into the fire. Cindy laughed; the tension was broken. We snuggled together, kissing, necking, warm chest against chest.

"I want to be in your bed," I breathed to her. "I want to be there, with you."

She nodded, and rose. I stood up also, and she took my hand, leading me down the stairs.

I left the door ajar; I wanted to see her, and there was just enough light. Kneeling in front of her, I unzipped her jeans and peeled them off. She brushed hair from my face; my hands slid up her hips and my fingers curled into each side of her panties. Slowly, oh so slowly, I pulled them down, as her magnificent blonde bush revealed itself . Cupping her buttocks, I pushed my face into her pubic hair, inhaling its clean hay smell. She gasped, and tried to spread her legs.

I rose awkwardly, fumbling with my belt. She collapsed onto the bed, waiting. As I ripped my pants off, I threw them at the heater, covering it. There would be no Cindy Cam tonight.

Scooting off my panties, I watched Cindy open her arms to me. I climbed onto the bed and embraced her, wondering if I was dreaming, if the beautiful, impossibly sexy woman of my dreams was really here. I ran my hands over the length of her, kissing her everywhere, listening to her gasps, feeling her wetness. I massaged between her legs, making out with her. Finally the moment arrived.

"I have to eat you now," I managed.

"Yes," she breathed. "I want you to."

I maneuvered down as she pushed herself up, onto pillows, almost sitting upright. I felt her fingers on my scalp as I kissed her knee. I moved down, sucking the tender flesh inside her thighs. I reached her wet crotch and opened my eyes to stare, again. Looking up, I saw she was watching me, her chest heaving with deep breaths.

Closing my eyes, I ran the tip of my tongue through every inch of her bush, pausing to kiss and lick the folds where I crossed them. She made sobbing sounds, and I could feel the urgency of her need. "It's so good, Cindy," I gasped. I wrapped my arms around her strong thick thighs and buried my mouth.

I found her clitoris immediately, swollen and thrusting up like a pea. I sucked the angry little organ, flicking my tongue over it in an ever-faster tempo. My fingers entered her and massaged, twisting in and out.

"Oh," she cried as her body began to shake. I held on tight; her shivering grew violent and I fought to hang on as her bucking threatened to break my neck. She was so strong! I ate her harder, and she gasped a moaning, animalistic sound. She tried to push me away, thrashing harder and harder. Suddenly, she screamed; it was overload. I allowed myself to be removed and I watched her body tremble, her eyes full of tears, as the last aftershocks of the orgasm left her.

I gently pulled her to me and kissed her tears away. I kissed her open mouth; she responded. Our kissing gained an erotic quality all its own as our mouths kept coming together, knowing each other. I raised up; she cupped my breasts and kissed one. I moved up more, letting her suck each nipple.

Biting my lip, I raised myself up further. She kissed my belly button, flicking her tongue playfully in and out. I was straddling her chest.

I deliberately moved my right knee up to her pillow. Then the left. She stared at my bush, small and well-trimmed, inches from her face. She hesitated, betraying doubt.

And then she kissed.

Another kiss, a long lingering one.

I moved my crotch down closer to her face. "Yes Cindy," I whispered. "Right there."

She ran her tongue lightly up over the slit, like an ice cream cone. And again. Slow licks. I reached down and grasped each side of her head firmly, and settled my legs tight.

"Kiss me Cindy," I said softly. "Inside." Hesitating, she looked at my wet pussy before closing her eyes and sliding her tongue in. I groaned, moving my hips and stroking her hair. I bent over almost double, kissing her head. "More," I whispered.

Her tongue pushed farther, bolder. It went deeper and deeper, until I could feel almost the entire thing. I crushed my pelvis into her face. She massaged my buttocks, and I felt my muscles cramp as orgasm knocked on the door.

"Oh yes," I wept into her ear. "Yes, just like that." I came, slowly, richly, savoring the incredible waves of heat that travelled from my vagina up my spine into my brain. Finally, I pulled off and collapsed next to her, shivering.

"Sweet Cindy," I whispered. My eyelids were so heavy. I spooned with her, wrapping my arms all the way around. I kissed her shoulder before succumbing to sleep.

In the morning, I opened my eyes. She was gone. Oh, no.

I checked her closet: empty, except for the box.

Rushing upstairs, naked, I saw a piece of paper on my kitchen table. It was ripped from my pad, addressed to me:

I DON'T REGRET IT. I JUST CAN'T STAY. SORRY. CINDY.

That was it.

The registrar at the college said she had dropped out, receiving partial credit for that semester's classes and a refund on her fees for the rest. Teresa said Cindy had gone back to Oklahoma. Teresa gave me a funny look, too.

When I checked the box in her closet, I saw that she had taken the magazines. That cheered me. I made up my mind.

In the back yard, I managed to open the rusty barbecue grill. On a bed of hot coals, I placed Cindy's tapes, one by one.

Hopefully she would continue her education. Who knows, she'd even talked about getting a degree in government. Hopefully she would be O.K.

As I tossed the last tape onto the fire, I watched the foul-smelling finger of smoke drift east. Folding her note carefully, I slipped it into my wallet between the pictures of my mother and father. And I gasped, a small gasp of epiphany, as I realized the little plastic jacket was where I kept my loved ones.