Mouth to Mouth

"I wish I was a boy," I confessed longingly.

"I wish you were a boy too." She kissed my labia and ran her tongue lovingly over my clitoris and through my folds of flesh. She spread me with her fingertips and blew a puff of air inside me, which made me giggle. I did the same to her.

"Hello in there," I teased.

"What do you want," she answered in a surly, husky voice.

"Can Jeanette come out and play?"

"Can't you see I'm busy? Come back tomorrow."

"But Jeanette might not be here tomorrow," I complained.

"Jeanette's always here. I'm keeping her captive in my dungeon. Now go away, before I lock you in the same dungeon and torture you mercilessly too."

We laughed, though the conversation was totally senseless.

"Bully!" I taunted him.

"Cunt!"

"Don't call me cunt!" I protested. "You're the cunt."

"I'm the cunt eater. I'll eat you if you don't go away."

"Fuck you!" I blurted. "What are you doing to my friend? I demand to know what you're doing to my friend!"

"This, for one," she replied.

"Ow! Jeanette!"

She laughed, giggling as I smacked her behind for biting me.

"That wasn't funny!" I bit her in the same place she had bit me and she bit me again, even harder. Then we took each other and steadily bit down harder until, squirming, mewling in agony, spasming in pain, one of us finally surrendered.

"Ow! Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow!" I cried, releasing her button. She transferred my clitoris from her teeth to her lips, and panting, I lay there and calmed as she applied first-aid. "That really hurt!" I complained.

She giggled. "I know. Wanna do it again?"

"Not on your life," I mumbled, although I liked her effort to repair the damage.

Her tongue abandoned my clitoris and took up residence in my vagina again. I took that as my cue and reinserted my own tongue in her vagina.

* * *

About 3 A.M. I was lured out of bed and into the shower by promises of kisses. Why I needed to leave the bed to be kissed I didn't understand, but evidently I did. It was a wonderful decision to make. Under the spray we kissed for a very long time, my arms around her neck, hers about my waist, me holding her breasts and she mine, each tweaking the other's nipples, each fingering the other's vagina. Our buttons were much too sore to touch. We giggled about that.

At some point, between one kiss and the next, I told her I loved her. "I love you too," she whispered back to me. Of course it was a "Love the one you're with" admission of love, but no less truthful for that. I felt as close to Jeanette as I did to Richard. Differently, otherly, but in love.

"My tongue is really, really sore," I told her. It felt ready to fall off, in fact. I could not remember being this sore since my first year of high school. My jaw muscles ached as well. All of me ached.

I kissed her again and abused my tongue even more. I couldn't explain how nice it felt having my breast in her hand. It seemed made to fit. I leaned away from her and let her hold both of my breasts, and I held hers. It was a picture perfect moment. One any guy would masturbate over madly. Two beautiful women in a shower, holding each other's breasts. It was almost better than kissing her.

We body washed ourselves, shampooed each other's hair, conditioned our hair, got out of the shower, giggling, and snatched up my battle of shave gel and two of my razors from the sink top, dove back under the spray and shaved each other's underarms, our legs, and each other's very private parts. I have never had so much fun in a shower. At home, we would have run the hot water completely out. In the hotel, the warm water never stopped. We only stopped because we desperately wanted back in bed.

"I love you," I repeated. We were snuggled deep in the covers, our hair soaking wet, not caring, wrapped in each other's arms and legs. She looked at me wistfully.

"I wish my husband told me he loved me like that."

"Not your boyfriend?" I asked.

"I wouldn't need a boyfriend," she pointed out. "If my husband told me he loved me like that." She kissed me tenderly, the most tender kiss I've ever had. Her right hand found my left and intermingled our fingers. I really was in love with this girl. If only for the night.

"I'm glad I got snowed in," I said.

"I'm glad you got snowed in too. I'm glad you came into my bar. I'm glad you sat down on the stool instead of one of the tables. I'm glad you smiled at me when you ordered your beer. I'm glad you followed me with your eyes up and down the bar."

"You're embarrassing me," I told her. She kissed me again. I kissed her back for 5 full minutes.

"I thought your tongue was sore," she teased.

"Not as sore as my..." I slipped my free hand between her legs and inserted my finger into her wetness. It was not from the shower, this wetness. Nor was mine. I spread my thighs to let her in and we kissed more, until I had to withdraw my tongue. And then we just kissed with our lips.

We never slept. Dawn caught us buried beneath the covers again. I was atop her this time, she beneath me, her thighs trapped between my arms and ribcage. It was almost too painful to use my tongue anymore, but I did. I apologized to her clitoris for my earlier mistreatment. I apologized to it profusely, with all the parts of my mouth. I licked her so much that she no longer had a taste. I suspected I was the same. We could barely move anymore. We were so very tired. I laughed, finding the room drenched in sunlight.

"It's 7 o'clock. I can't believe it's 7 o'clock.. What happened to our night?"

"I think we used it all up," she said.

I blinked at the unwelcome stream of light coming through the parted curtains.

"That really sucks."

"That sucks," she agreed. She pulled the covers back over our heads.

At 10 o'clock, Richard called and woke us up. The snow had finally stopped and the forecast was for blustery strong winds from the northwest. We had 11" of new snow on the ground, and even his intrepid customer couldn't best two and a half feet of accumulation. His appointment was cancelled, rescheduled for tomorrow. I didn't even worry about mine. Marty hadn't even called. My only consideration now, was when I'd get home.

"Do you have to leave?" I asked.

Jeanette rubbed her rat's nest of hair-I guessed what mine must look like-and yawned, stretching her limbs mightily. I wanted nothing more than to return beneath the covers and resume where we'd left off. But it was not to be.

"I have to go," she said, scooting to the edge of the mattress. I saw where I had scratched her back in four different places. They were welts, red and angry looking. I looked at my short nails. They were long enough, I guess. I felt guilty.

She looked back at me, and smiled. "Am I invited back?"

"Of course you are," I said immediately. "24 hours a day."

"I need to work."

"When you aren't working," I compromised.

She grinned.

While she peed, I got up and put myself in a robe. Richard awaited my call, and I wondered how on the Good Earth I could possibly engage in lovemaking after last night. I was completely exhausted. I was completely sprung. It felt like every muscle in my body had given up. I sighed, and tried to brush my hair out with my fingertips, but it was hopeless.

As it turned out, my goodbye kiss at the door was the last I would share with Jeanette. She'd already been fired, reported missing overnight by the mother hen. It was only a matter of not providing an answer for her whereabouts overnight, and unbeknownst to me, she cleaned out her locker, collected her final paycheck and caught a ride into town with a coworker driving a Hummer. I would not see her again.

"Oh, my God!" I cried later when I was told. "You're kidding me?"

Richard, working on his laptop turned around to look.

"She's been fired!" I explained in shock. "They kicked her out of the motel this morning! Oh, Jeanette, sweetie...I'm so sorry." I listened agape, as she gave me the details. I started to cry, and that got her crying also, which she hadn't done until now. "I'm so sorry," I kept apologizing.

"I'm not. It was worth losing my job to be with you, Marci."

"Can you come back?" I asked, feeling desperate. "As a guest? As a guest of a guest?"

"I'm not allowed in the building. I'm not allowed in any Holiday Inn, anywhere. Not in this state, anyway. I am strictly verboten. Sorry, sweetheart," she said.

I stared at Richard. "We're moving," I said. "Find another place to stay. Do it right now," I commanded.

"Marci, no."

"But Jeanette...?"

"I appreciate the sentiment, believe me, I do. But I'm already in trouble. I can't just walk away from the house and disappear. I already have to explain getting canned. My husband won't be pleased."

"Oh," I said dully. "Of course. Of course, you're right. You're married. You have kids. What am I thinking of? Oh, Jeanette...I'm so sorry."

It was another few minutes before we hung up, a devastating interval where my heart broke and life seemed to drain out of me like blood from an open vein. It took a lot of effort on Richard's part to console me. It took a lot of effort on my part to forgive myself. I was not as successful at my task as Richard was at his.

That evening, lying back against the headboard with me in his arms, he confessed: "I'm conflicted about this, Marci."

"I know," I said, morosely. "You liked Jeanette, but you didn't want to share me with her."

"Exactly," he agreed. And when I turned my head, he found my mouth and connected himself to it, and kept himself connected as he turned me around and laid me flat on the bed. We made love, a sweet, blessed lovemaking that took hours and hours to consummate. At 3 AM, once again totally exhausted, I fell asleep in his arms.

* * *

In the morning, I let him order while I started the shower and saw to my bodily needs. He joined me then and I stepped into the tub to allow him privacy to take care of his. My hair was a tangled, knotted mess. I worked it with my brush while water cascaded down my front, tossing the hairbrush onto the sink when Richard joined me in the spray. He shampooed my hair, washed me down thoroughly with his hands, inside and out, and then conditioned my hair. I let the conditioner soak in while I washed every part of his body with inquisitive fingers. We didn't talk, speaking only as a matter of last resort. It was a very erotic, if relatively chaste shower.

Breakfast arrived and Richard tipped the boy and set out the plates while I brushed my hair and quickly dried it with the Inn's blow drier. I removed my complimentary robe as I sat down; wanting to afford Richard the best possible scenery to enjoy with his breakfast. He seemed to appreciate this, proving unable to remove his eyes from my breasts. I was unable to finish my coffee as suddenly he decided dessert was in order and returned me to bed for more slow, passionate lovemaking.

We kissed and licked each other, each touch re-igniting the flames of passion from the night before. No drugs or alcohol fueled this fire and when Richard entered me, I gasped and levered myself wide and thrust my hips up and into him. We danced a slow tango that morning, the bed our dance floor, the music our passion. When we came it was a deep and rewarding cum. His cock throbbed inside me while I filled with cum, my legs wrapped around his middle as I came myself.

Later, we walked in the still falling snow, knowing we'd have tomorrow together, maybe even Thursday. Like newlyweds, we left the room for only short breaks. We never had another drink or smoked any more pot. We were the only drugs each other used. By the time we parted, my insides were nearly raw, but I felt a glow inside that I knew would always be there.

Our final day together, as we languished in bed, sweaty from lovemaking, I told him: "I've had an incredible week, Richard. I don't know how any week anywhere could have been better than this. In some ways, I wish it could go on and on, forever. Make this more than just a memory. But there's Nick at home, and my job, and while I'll feel guilt over this for a good long time, I will never, ever regret it."

He smiled and kissed my nose. "You have no idea how completely satisfied I feel. How grand. How fulfilled. I met the most beautiful woman in the world during a snowstorm and went to ground with her for four days. Who could ask for more than that? What could be better?" He sighed. "But you're right; we've got our lives to return to. Yours in Maryland, mine in Wisconsin." He looked so sad, sad as I felt. "I'm giving you my number. I'm not taking yours. It's not that I wouldn't call you in a second, Marce; I would, but I have to let this thing go, right now. Having your number would be too much temptation. I'd be forced to use it; I wouldn't be able to help myself.

"List my company name, so Nick won't ever have to know. It makes me feel better knowing you can reach me if you need me. But I don't expect to resume this, no matter how much I want otherwise."

While he dressed, Richard hummed a familiar tune. I sat there in bed, the covers wrapped around me, wondering what it was, where I'd heard it before. Finally I asked.

"It's an old tune by Harry Chapin," he said. "He passed away in a car accident many years ago. It's called Taxi, and tells the story of-"

"Old lovers," I broke in, remembering now. "He picks her up at the airport one night, or from somewhere, I don't remember, and drives her home to her mansion."

"They thought they'd be rich and famous," he said, grinning. "She'd be an actress, and he'd learn to fly airplanes." He began to recite the words, his voice a passable imitation of Harry Chapin's own.

"You see, she was gonna be an actress, and I was gonna learn to fly.

She took off to find the footlights, and I took off for the sky.

And here, she's acting happy, inside her handsome home.

And me, I'm flying in my taxi, taking tips, and getting stoned."

He smiled sadly, crossed to the bed and kissed me on the lips. "Go home to your footlights. Marci and I'll go find my stars."

I kept his number, of course, and our memories. I felt very little guilt over the relationship. It was only a few lost days, after all. So I told myself.

When I did contact Richard three months later, he sounded as though he was expecting my call. "Sorry," he said, before I could tell him the reason for calling.

"Why are you sorry," I asked, surprised.

"I have a knack for knowing things that I can't explain how or why I know, just that I do. I'm here for you, Marci, whatever path you choose."

I had lost my boyfriend shortly after the trip, but that was to be expected, I guess. Whether he suspected anything, I don't know. Perhaps my mood was different, perhaps compared to the days prior to my West Virginia trip the passion and excitement weren't there. Whatever the reason, it wasn't long before he and I drifted apart. The last time I saw him; Nick was escorting a pretty redhead into the local Red Lobster.

A week after he left I discovered I had a life growing inside me. I knew it wasn't Nick's: Nick never had me unprotected. When I was sure, after visiting an OB/GYN, I called Richard. I wasn't sure yet that I wanted him, but I wanted him to know. So I told him.

"Richard, I'll call you back. I have things to think about. I'm not sure how involved you should be in this. I need to think."

So here I sit, thinking.

I've always wanted to be a mom, but I'd never considered doing that job alone. I'm not sure that I want to be a wife though. I do miss Richard; I could see us together, but all I know of him is a couple of hot wonderful days in a motel room during a snowstorm. But I want to be a mom; I won't end this pregnancy prematurely. It's single mom, adoption or a partner. And that's another thing to think about. Partners

Although Richard and I broke contact, Jeanette and I did not. A week after returning home, I called down to the Holiday Inn and asked to speak to Jeanette's replacement. I was honest with her, explaining that I was the reason for Jeanette's firing. Although her attitude toward me hardened immediately-she and Jeanette were friends, neighbors and old schoolmates-she agreed to contact Jeanette and pass on my number and my desire to talk. Ten minutes later, Jeannette called.

"Hello, rascal," she said. "How you doing?"

I laughed. She sounded not at all pissed at me. "I'm fine. How are you?"

"Scratching by. Miss me yet?"

I blushed, all alone in the house, I blushed.

"As a matter of fact, yes. Do you miss me?"

She snickered. "I'm still sore. My tongue may never recuperate. I've walked bowlegged like a cowgirl ever since I left you. Oh wait...I am a cowgirl," she said, laughing. I grinned widely. My tongue had stayed sore days afterward.

"I guess that's a yes?" I ventured.

"As the day is long, sweetie. How come you didn't call till now?"

"I was embarrassed?" It came out a question.

"You should be embarrassed. Making me wait this long."

"You could have called me," I pointed out. "You had my number."

"You're right. I do have your number. It's tattooed right here on my left breast, right below my nipple.'

"Jeanette!" I complained loudly. She had me squirming in the chair. "Is your husband home?"

She laughed again, this time raucously.

"What?" I demanded shyly.

"He kicked me out on my ass. I'm living with my sister right now, over in Charles Town. You know where that is?"

"Near the race track?" I speculated.

"A mile away. I've been to the casino every night. I'm wasting my fucking inheritance. Worse, I'm wasting it without anyone to waste it with." She cleared her throat. "That was an invitation, Marcia."

I laughed, embarrassed. "You want me to come down?"

"Duh! Really? I have to beg?"

I laughed again. "Could I come Friday night?" My heart sped up even as I said the words.

"As long as you plan to spend the weekend," she advised.

I spent the weekend. I spent the next four weekends in a row, until her sister rebelled in frustration. Once Nicky moved out, I had her spend them with me, though we twice migrated back down to the casino. Twice we ended up in a motel. Not the Holiday Inn.

So I had a decision to make.

The smart call would be to find out if Richard and I were more than a memory and a souvenir, see if what the storm had generated was more than a few days of pleasure and a small bulge in my tummy. That would be the smart thing to do. The smart thing to do. Was I smart enough?

I reached for the phone.

THE END