Mouth to Mouth

I reddened again, cleared my throat. "If it's okay, I'd rather have a Heineken. I went to the mini bar and opened the door. "Would you like something?" I asked.

"What I want, isn't in that refrigerator, Marcia," she answered, making me immediately want to squirm. Richard chuckled and took another sip of his whiskey. He was enjoying this...way too much.

I gulped. "What do you want?"

"The same thing you do."

My face reached dangerous temperatures again. "I've never been with a girl before," I muttered, my true confession.

Jeanette laughed. "Like I have? I'm a virgin too. Although..." She looked appraisingly at Richard. "It's not my first threesome with a man." She accepted the glass of Jim Beam from Richard and took a sip. I took that to mean she had shared herself with her husband and a friend. "Are you involved in this? Or is it just me and Marcia?"

Richard looked thoughtful. "Which would you like it to be?"

"I asked you first."

They both looked at me. I was frozen like a deer in headlights. "No way!" I blurted out. "You're not leaving this up to me!"

"It's your party," Jeanette pointed out. "Your choice of guests."

I blushed even harder.

None of us said anything. After a time, Richard nodded and said to Jeanette: "My take on this, all along, is that you and Marcia are a matched set. I knew it the first time you smiled at her, and she blushed. I knew it when her eyes followed you up and down the bar last night." He held up his hand at my intended protestation. "It doesn't affect you and me, Marcia. What we have is different. I have no qualms about leaving you alone with Jeanette, just as I'm sure she doesn't begrudge me for last night and today."

"Not at all," she agreed. "Like you said, it's different."

I began to protest again, but Richard grinned at me and shook his head. "I'm going to my room. I need a good night's sleep anyway. God knows-" He stretched mightily. "I'm not a young man anymore." He put down his glass and sat down to put on his shoes.

"Richard, no," I repeated, though half-heartedly. I had not meant for him to leave. That had never been my intention. I had always seen the three of us together in this. But the truth was, what I felt for Jeanette was different from what I felt for Richard: other; singular. I wanted Jeanette in an entirely different way. Maybe, for tonight at least, we should be alone.

"I don't want to be the bad guy here," Jeanette said. "I came into this with eyes wide open. I'm okay with you both. I'm okay with you alone." She grinned at Richard as he took his feet. "I don't think Marcia would like me alone with you though."

"I doubt that too.". He pointed at us both, one at a time. "Enjoy yourselves, ladies. Call me in the morning and let me know how it goes with your appointment. I'll let you know if I get to mine." He picked up the bag of O'Doul's and tucked it beneath his arm. I looked at him helplessly.

"I'll see you in the morning then." I didn't want it to be a question. I wanted it to be a statement of fact, unassailable. I prayed that Marty would insist I stay two or three days as originally planned, holding the customer's hand. I knew-or at least I hoped I knew-that Richard would stay here as long as I.

"Wait!" I cried. "I don't know your room number!" Then I gasped in horror. "I don't even know your last name, Richard!"

He looked at me, surprised. How could I not know his last name? How could I have surrendered myself so completely in the last 24 hours to a virtual stranger? Jeanette looked just as surprised as Richard. I didn't know her last name, either. Did Richard know mine?

"I'm in room 5016. My last name is Krieger. What's yours?"

"Hooper," I said. Jeanette rolled her eyes at us both. "Mine's Sloane. I guess we should all be properly introduced, considering."

My face burned again. I felt so stupid.

"See you in the A.M.," Richard said. And then he was gone.

* * *

I stood rooted to the spot. I had forgotten about the door in my hand and I let it go. I stared stupidly at Jeanette for a moment, and then reopened the door and removed a bottle of Heineken. "Would you like one?" I asked.

"Actually, that would be nice. I'm not a fan of neat whisky."

She placed the bottle still in her hand on the table. She looked more closely around the room, noting my clothes, or the lack of such, on the hangers. She eyed the dresser speculatively.

"How many days are you booked for?" she asked.

"Until tomorrow. Wednesday," I clarified. It was already Tuesday morning. I twisted off the cap and set it on the counter, picking up a glass and righting it. My pouring was not as professionally done as a bartender, but I handed her the bottle and glass.

"Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome," I answered. I twisted off my cap and filled my glass to the brim. It overran and I sat it down quickly on the counter. Jeanette laughed.

"Don't worry. I'm nervous too."

"You don't look it," I said honestly.

"I am. I have to pee so bad I'm ready to squirm like a 5-year old. I peed just before I came here, too."

I understood. I had to go pee too. I didn't think I could if I sat down on a toilet seat in Moscow. I sipped at my beer. This was a bad idea. I should have stayed with Richard.

"Can I ask you something?" she asked.

"Sure."

"Do you like me?"

That was direct, I thought. "Yes, I do. Richard was right about that."

She nodded thoughtfully, sipping also. "He was right about me, too. I knew the instant I saw you."

"It was the uniform," I joked nervously. "I'm helpless before a girl in a uniform."

"Then we're even. I liked your uniform tonight. What did you have on under it, anyway? You never answered."

I blushed bright red. "My thigh thighs?" I admitted in a little girl's voice. She laughed.

"You're daring. I've never done that myself. Not at a motel, anyway." She canted her head. "You've really never been with a girl?"

I shook my head.

"Neither have I. I've made out with one before; I've even been on a couch with one, topless, making out with our boyfriends in the room." She laughed. "The guys recorded us on a video camera, the bastards. They posted it online." She laughed some more, for the first time growing red herself. "I've been recognized once or twice. It's embarrassing as hell."

Once at a party, a guy asked me to blow him like in a video he'd watched. I had respectfully declined. He told me all the parts he liked best. I told him to go fuck himself. Damn guys and video cameras.

"Did you like it?" I asked.

"Making out with her?"

I nodded.

"It was fun. It was fun doing it with the guys watching, too. I really got turned on when she spotted the camera and told me what they were doing. I really got into it then." She laughed. "We played to the camera. That was what made it really embarrassing, you know? You've never kissed a girl at all?"

I shook my head. And then I nodded. "At a party, once. And at a club, a couple of times. Nothing serious, nothing like what you did. We were just doing it for the guys. Grinding, you know?"

She nodded. "Did you like it?"

I took a moment to answer. "A lot."

"It embarrassed you, though?"

I nodded again.

"I kept telling myself it was just a turn on for the guys, just to let them get their rocks off. But that was a lie. I never let on how much I wanted to take Emma to the bedroom and fuck her ass off. I was surprised by how much she let me do, how much she did in return on that couch." She sighed. "We never got it on again, not like that. How sad."

I watched her a moment, embarrassed, anxious, frightened. Then I said in a whisper: "But you have your chance now?"

"Now I have my chance," she agreed. "And so do you, right?"

I nodded.

* * *

It didn't get easier. Until the moment we actually kissed, actually put our lips together and let our hands touch each other's bodies, it was a very tense room. I remember thinking we could use some oxygen pumped in.

I told her about myself, my job, my boss (who I occasionally had a thing for), my parents, my ex-boyfriends, my brother and sister, and my current boyfriend, Nick.

"How are you reconciling this with him?" she asked.

I smiled. "Not well. I pretty much torpedoed my relationship with Nick." I touched the hickey on my neck. "This isn't the only one."

She looked up and down my body, as though guessing where the others might be. I shifted uncomfortably.

"What about you?" I asked. "Do you really have a boyfriend?"

She nodded. "His name is Lance. He's an ex-boyfriend, really. Two boyfriends ago. I broke up with him to date a guy at the bar." She snickered and rolled her eyes. "Really stupid move. I have this problem differentiating between hot, and loyal. He cheated on me with my best friend, and then her best friend. And half a dozen others I probably don't know about. Then Richard came along and I thought he was hot too. Too hot to let get away, anyway. So I married him."

I was seeing a pattern here. "Does he cheat on you too?"

"Not that I know of. He's a rare combination of hot and loyal. A rottweiler puppy-dog. Depressing, really."

"How come?"

"No fun. His idea of a good time is to arrange his hair in a mirror. Or go shopping for clothes. My nature is a little more aggressive than his." She took a sip of her beer. "Maybe I'm the sad one here. At least he's not sitting in a motel room with another man, planning to have sex. I would assume that, anyway. You never know, though. Anyway, Lance came in one evening about six months ago and sat down at the bar and started shooting the shit with me. I liked it. I held out, oh, about two months before I let him talk me back to his place for a romp. And that's what it was, too," she said, laughing. "An absolute romp." She sobered. "So what's really going on between you and Richard?"

I shrugged. "Opportunity, I guess. He's too old for me."

"Sixty, at least," she agreed.

"More like sixty-five." I tapped my lips with my fingertip. "I like him though. A lot. He makes me feel my age."

"Which is what, 30?"

I nodded.

"I'm 31."

I grinned. "An older woman."

She grinned. "I like my meat slightly rare. But you'll do." She patted the mattress beside her. "Come sit down. I won't bite you."

I did as instructed, joking, "I hope that's not true," settling in beside her nervously. I was beginning to heat up again, embarrassment overtaking my anxiety. Shivering made it difficult to hold my glass steady. She smiled at me.

"Twice in one week. That must be really scary for you. And a woman, to boot."

I nodded in complete agreement: Richard hadn't been scary enough. Now I was about to discover bisexuality. It made every muscle in my body quiver, my stomach queasy, my head swimmy. My underarms itched, a testament to my jumpiness. I was not sure I wanted to go through with this, not sure at all. She put her hand on my thigh, just above the knee and sipped again at her beer.

"I'm every bit as nervous as you are," she reminded me.

"You don't show it," I reminded her.

"Believe me, I am." And then, as though to prove to herself-prove to us both-that she could overcome her shyness, Jeanette leaned into me and sought out my lips. I freaked out, shivering head to toe and felt on the verge of panic. But when she kissed me, moved her lips against mine, I closed my eyes and accepted her advance. I didn't react well, though, kissing her back stiffly, but I welcomed the warmth of her breath and the moisture of her lips and tongue. I welcomed her into my mouth, as she stole in for a quick foray.

"Are you okay?" she whispered.

"I'm okay. You?"

"About to pee my panties." We both laughed, and then she kissed me again, her tongue emboldened by my reaction, her lips moving against mine more purposefully, more energetically, her hand on my thigh sliding upward away from my knee. I began to kiss her back with equal abandon, spreading my thighs in involuntary reaction to her hand. When I moaned it was like pouring gasoline onto smoldering coals. Her tongue leapt into my mouth, engaged mine in battle as she tried desperately to find a place to deposit her glass. I kept mine well away from her, not wanting a repeat of last night.

"Oh, God, I want you," she moaned gutturally. A moment later she tore the glass out of my hand, fumbled them both onto the nightstand, and pushed me flat on the bed and crawled atop me. We made out like a pair of teens, mouths frantic against each other, hands desperately after each other's boobs. I had never held another girl's breast in my hand before and I reveled in the taboo feel of it, the pleasure of having her hand hold mine. I wanted her nipples bare, wanted them in my mouth, wanted her lips sucking mine. I shuddered when she wrestled my t-shirt up to my armpits and kissed the tops of my breasts.

"God, this is so much better than the couch," she panted. "So much better than the couch." She wrenched my bra out of the way and went after my nipples. I held her head gently as she sucked and nibbled at me, shivered at the intense pleasure she unleashed. She worked my bra completely out of the way and went back and forth between my breasts, kissing and licking and sucking. I remembered Richard doing this identical thing to me the night before. I marveled at the likeness. It was like something out of a movie. They could almost have planned this, I thought. That idea sent a massive shudder down my spine.

"I want you naked," she gasped. Off came my T-shirt, up and over my head. My bra followed suit, worked off me without being unsnapped first. Her desperation made me giggle childishly. Having rendered me topless, she came back for more nipple torture. I watched, panting, as she made me writhe with her lips and tongue. I closed my eyes and moaned as her hand slid down my body to alight between my legs. She went right for my crotch, not bothering to prepare me first. I trembled violently as her hand slipped down the front of my jeans and then down into my panties. She was inside me with a finger in an instant. I shuddered, rolling my hips and spreading my thighs. I felt the sharpness of her fingernail against my delicate tissues and then scraping the hump of my cervix. I moaned in combined pleasure and uneasiness. I hadn't considered the fingernail issue, not until now. I always kept mine short; hers were long and curved, dangerously like claws. She could wreck havoc inside me.

"Be careful," I pleaded. I felt the sides of her fingernail abrade my cervix as she rubbed it with her fingertip.

"Sorry," she whispered. "I'll try not to hurt you." She glanced momentarily at my right hand, at my closely trimmed nails. "We never got this far on the couch, Emma and I." She grinned at me. "You are so much better than Emma, Marcia."

I laughed, feeling ridiculously pleased at the favorable comparison.

After another 30 seconds of torture, she raised onto her knees and fumbled open the buttons on her vest and peeled it off. I sat up and helped her undo her white blouse, then pulled it back over her shoulders and down her arms. She began to unfasten her brassiere, but I smacked her hands away.

"Mine," I told her. "Hands off."

She grinned at me, her chest rising and falling with her labored breathing. Between us, we could supply the entire state of West Virginia with adrenalin, I thought. The amount in my bloodstream had my heart galloping along like a racehorse. I gulped, suddenly dry-mouthed and badly in need of a drink. I gauged the distance between my hand and the tempting glass and went for it. I grabbed both glasses, one-handed, Jeanette helping me keep balanced. I made no differential between the two, handing her the slightly fuller glass at random

"Thank you!" she gasped, gulping the liquid down. I drained mine in one long swallow and looked around for the opened bottles. They sat on the counter above the fridge. I got off the bed with an admonition not to touch her bra.

"I mean it," I said as she pretended to reach behind her. She grinned and blew me a kiss and then proceeded to bare herself for me, pulling down her cups. "Brat," I muttered, making her laugh. She left herself as-is, supported erotically by the bra, hands on her hips, posing like a lingerie model. Were I a man, I'd have had an aching hard-on for her. I certainly had a mental hard-on for her. I wanted to fuck her so badly.

Ignoring the bottles, I opened the refrigerator and removed two more beers. We had only two Heineken left; we'd be drinking Molson or Miller or Budweiser soon, none of which I liked. Of course, taste was incidental right now; I wanted the buzz and the hydration. Lovemaking was serious business. Retuning to the bed, I handed her one bottle and opened my own.

"To snow-bound strangers," I said.

"To snow-bound strangers becoming friends," she corrected.

"To the opportunity provided for us," I added. We both took long swigs, and she kissed me again. I pushed back until she had to grab me for support, breaking us into new giggles. She attacked my bare nipples with her cold bottle and I went after hers, which led to a full-fledged wrestling match with the grand prize the last article of the other's clothing. I fought valiantly but lost my panties to her superior strength and agility. She obviously worked out; she had biceps and rock-hard abs. She was panting only half as hard as I was. Pinned to the bed, squirming uselessly, I refused to say Uncle.

"I'll spank you," she warned.

"You will not!"

"You doubt that I could?" She peaked her eyebrows questioningly. I knew she could, and I knew she wanted to. I wanted her to.

"Go ahead and try! Nobody spanks me," I boasted like a 10-year-old.

Grinning down at me, my wrists grasped tightly in her hands, she lowered herself and placed her lips gently upon mine. We kissed, my eyes slowly closing and my whole body melting like chocolate. I began to moan and I felt my nipples growing hard and achy with desire. Estrogen hit my bloodstream again; my heart took on a slow, not-quite rhythmic beat that should have alarmed me but didn't. It was the heartbeat of a person on the verge of love. Oh My God, did I want her to fuck me.

From that point on she was the Alpha and I was the Beta. She told me or showed me what to do, and I did my best to please her. Had she a penis, she would have taken me in every possible position. She had me in every possible position anyway, some of them quite humiliating. At one point, 69ing with her, I lowered my head and asked: "Does your tongue hurt as much as mine does?" She withdrew hers from my vagina, replacing it temporarily with two fingers.

"Id debens on how you devine hurd," she teased.

I laughed, raised my head again to kiss the lovely nub of her clitoris. I tickled it with the tip of my tongue, which really was sore. She shuddered.

"You have exactly 12 hours to stop that, young lady," she threatened.

I had discovered her only weakness. I could extract any answer from her I that wanted, demand any action, and even make her plead for mercy. Should I decide, my tongue could prove her total undoing. She had already admitted to loving anal and being made to suck cock; her two darkest secrets. I had threatened to make her kneel before Richard and have her mouth thoroughly fucked, hands tied with her own brassiere. In truth, the idea of being bound and made to suck cock made me itch all over too. I had never been forced to suck cock before. I liked the idea.

I returned my tongue to her pink insides. I had always wondered what a cervix looked like up close. Now I knew. I knew everything about a girl's private anatomy now, from her delicate pearl to her tender folds, the cute hole of her urethra, the separating strip of flesh between her vagina and another hole, the delicious taste that was at the same time erotically repugnant. I envied every boy that had ever eaten me. I envied every boy who had ever eaten Jeanette-quite a few, by her own admission. I knew both her husband and boyfriend routinely put her on her knees and mounted her doggie. Both made her spread her butt cheeks with her hands, both thrilled at making her cry out in pain as they worked their big cocks up her tight ass. They both routinely spewed semen into her rectum, unprotected. I could never do that to her myself, but she loved, when I finger-fucked her. I loved it also, though it scared me having her dangerous fingernail up my own rectum. I could feel every movement, every scrape against my delicate tissues. I knew I'd feel it in the morning. I didn't care.