Are You Tiffani Caine? Ch. 02

"How are you? Over the hangover?" Rachel asked cheerfully after the Tiffani Caine password had been exchanged.

"Yes. It took a while, but yes. It reminded me of why I don't drink."

"You looked like you were having a great time."

"I honestly remember almost nothing about the night."

"You don't remember shouting, 'Adios, Motherfucker' in a crowded bar?"

"I do remember that. Unfortunately."

"Remember when the guys tried to pick us up and wouldn't take no for an answer?"

"Blessedly I forgot that."

"Remember anything else?"

Sara was quiet for a long moment, but it was clear Rachel was expecting an answer so finally she mumbled, "Yes."

"The kiss?"

Sara replied with a barely audible, "Yes. Some of it. Not all that much, I think. But...yes."

"I never would have expected you to kiss that way. You sucked my tongue like it was a cock - that's hot." Sara's only reply was a pained groan. "Oh don't give me that, you loved it."

"Look, is this what you called me for? Do we have to talk about this?"

"No and no. What are you doing tonight?"

Oh no, not again. "I had plans..."

"You still do, but they just changed. I'm inviting you to my home to eat snacks and watch cheesy old movies."

"Do I have a choice?"

"I'm told that you always have a choice. But don't sweat, girl. You don't have to drink if you don't feel like it, and you absolutely don't have to do anything you don't want to. This is just hanging out."

Sara didn't quite buy that. "Are we supposed to be friends now?"

"I dunno, I'm just doing what I'm told, same as you. But you're alright. I'd want you as a friend if you could learn to relax a little. You were a blast the other night, even leaving the kiss aside."

"Well...you're alright too."

"Woo! Besties foreva!"

That actually made Sara grin and roll her eyes. "Let's hold off on that."

"I'm in a meeting until fuck knows," Rachel told her. "So I'll pick you up at your place sometime between, like...I dunno, 6:45 and 7:30. Sorry I can't be more precise but you know how it is."

"Yeah. Should I bring something?"

"Nah, I have it covered. We can swing by this awesome Vietnamese place near my apartment. I hope you like bún bò Huế because that's what we're getting."

"I only had it once but I loved it."

"We'll add some spring rolls and some Ca tim kho to -"

"What's that?"

"Eggplant."

Sara grinned. "I love eggplant!"

"And you're lucky, I just made a batch of brownies using an old family recipe that's been famous since my great-grandmother invented it - and I've improved it since then."

"OK, you're totally hitting all my weaknesses here," Sara laughed. "And you promise you won't try to get me drunk?"

"Everything that passes your lips will be because you wanted it to. But don't blame me if you overeat, my brownies are the best."

"Vietnamese food, brownies, and bad movies. OK, this should be fun. I'll be ready at a quarter to seven." They said their goodbyes and hung up. Rachel really did seem nice - not someone she would have chosen to hang around with, and certainly not someone she felt entirely safe with, but, well, maybe getting out of her safety zone wasn't the worst thing. Maybe Amy had been right: maybe she did want the occasional adventure. There was no harm in that.

As long as they didn't kiss again tonight.

Sara quickly texted Isaac that she had to cancel their plans for the night. It was just supposed to be going to a Christian camel club and listening to some live music, but Sara had been looking forward to it. Once again Sara lied about the reason, telling her beloved fiance that she had had a rough few days at work and needed to relax alone and go to bed early, and once again she felt the sting of guilt. But what could she do? She was being forced.

When she got home Sara quickly bathed, brushed her hair, and put on a different dress from the one she wore to work that nevertheless managed to look almost exactly like it. She wasn't particularly nervous about the evening with Rachel - she didn't see how a harmless evening of movies and munchies could go terribly wrong unless Rachel made her go on an internet shopping spree, and even that wouldn't be the worst thing that had happened to her recently: money she could lose, as long as she maintained her morals...more or less.

She briefly considered that Rachel might be taking her someplace where there would be some sort of ambush that would put Sara in a position she really didn't want to be in, but she quickly dismissed the idea; after all, nobody involved in this bizarre scheme had actually lied to her yet. Why would they? They could tell her to do anything and she would either have to do it or check out of the whole thing and accept her doom, so what would be the point of deceit? No, she felt pretty confident that she had a simple girl's night ahead of her.

At 7:10 Rachel texted that she had arrived and Sara hurried out to meet her with an actual smile on her face. When she got into Rachel's car the woman greeted her with the now-expected back-and-forth wherein Sara confirmed her Tiffaniness and her Cainitude, and Rachel said, "I'm supposed to do one of those weird underwear checks now but it would be really awkward to do in the car so we'll just wait until we get to my place. Cool?"

"It would be cool with me if I never had to do it again."

"Don't tell anybody I did this or they'll probably make you do it on the steps of the State Capitol in broad daylight next time. Oh and just so you know, I'll be drinking so if I get too drunk to drive you home or you don't like the movies I pick or whatever, you can call a ride service or a taxi at any time and just bail. I was told to tell you that."

"But that would mean..."

"I was told it wouldn't mean anything. Once you get to my place you can turn around and leave immediately and it won't count against you. Stay as long as you want and do what you want. We're just hangin'."

While that was a relief, it was also strange. Always before there had been something that she hadn't wanted to do but had to. Why was tonight different? That was suspicious, but Rachel's mood was so light and breezy that Sara couldn't stay tense, and soon enough they were chatting about their days at work. For the second time, Sara found herself venting about work and Josh.

Rachel was a good listener who asked good questions, and she seemed sympathetic even if she was baffled by Sara sticking around. "You can tell me to STFU, and like I barely know you at all and I've never met your fiance," Rachel said, "but you're miserable and your boss is telling you to get out and Isaac is making you stay? Guy sounds like an assho - a jerk."

"I understand how it seems that way and you aren't the only one to say it, but Isaac understands spirituality and the needs and the lessons of it and everything a lot better than I do. If he says I need to stick it out then I'm going to listen."

Rachel shrugged. "Your life. But I understand religious types better than you think."

That was a little insulting. "Oh. So you've know us Jesusheads through and through?"

Rachel looked at Sara from the corner of her eye for as long as road safety would permit, then turned her gaze back to the road. "You know what Lower Marion is?"

"No."

"Suburb of Philadelphia. It's more Jewish than Israel. That's where I grew up, Mr. and Mrs. Klinger's little black sheep. My parents were the most conservative Conservative Jews you ever saw. I spent my whole childhood trying to get out of the box they put me in. So yeah, I understand religion and what it does to people."

"Well that's...I mean, that's not my religion. That's not Christianity."

Rachel grinned mirthlessly. "You want to know the three career options my parents told me I had? They said I could marry a doctor, or I could marry a lawyer, or I could marry a dentist. Those were the only acceptable outcomes of my life. And no matter which of those dramatically different paths I chose, I had to spend my life cranking out kids and supporting my husband in all things always, no matter what he did or how miserable it made me. Because that's what a woman was for. So you tell me, how different is that from your religion, really?"

"Well..." Sara drifted off into silence. Aside from the doctor-lawyer-dentist bit, that was what her church taught that women ought to do. Finally she said, "There's a lot of joy in living how the Bible tells you to live, in this world and the next. Knowing you're living according to the Lord's will -"

"'The answers are all in the Halakha.' Yeah, I heard the same stuff growing up that you hear now. You guys just filed off the serial numbers."

"Not all religions are the same, and not all religious people are either."

"Pfft. Here's a handy study guide: if a religion teaches that women are inferior to men, if it teaches that women have to be led by men, if it teaches that women have to be grateful for whatever men inflict on them - that religion was made by and made solely for the benefit of men. When a man tells you that you have to stay in a shitty, awful life, he's telling you that because you being miserable makes him happy, period. No exceptions to the rule, including your Isaac."

Rachel didn't understand and Sara knew that there was no way she could make her understand, so she let the topic drop and talked about what movies they were going to watch tonight instead. It turned out that both women shared a surprising affection for 80s action flicks in all their glorious goofiness, so they decided on an Arnie night of the first Terminator, Commando, and if time permitted, Total Recall. They weren't the sorts of movies a Christian woman ought to watch, but Sara had grown up watching them with her brother Frank and had never lost her affection for them. And besides, she'd seen them all a dozen times, so they could do no more harm to her than they'd already done.

Rachel's neighborhood wasn't one of the best ones in the Twin Cities. It was poor, dingy, and run-down, with groups of youths loitering on street corners and, in at least one case, a drug deal going down under a bright streetlight. They pulled up in front of a dim storefront with a sign sporting Vietnamese and English writing and Rachel texted, and a couple of minutes later a young woman trotted out with several bags that were emitting smells that made Sara's tummy rumble in anticipation.

Rachel's apartment was at the other end of a block that sported a bar with a profusion of motorcycles parked nearby and the presence of some very rough-looking individuals in front of it. The two women parked in a dilapidated lot behind a nondescript 10-unit apartment building; when Sara opened her door she could hear shouted cursing and muffled metal music echoing from the biker bar. She picked up the takeout bags and followed Rachel to the back door, saying, "This is an interesting neighborhood."

"Yeah I know it doesn't look like much and my car gets busted into every couple of months," Rachel said as she opened the building door and started up a flight of stairs that smelled of old cigarettes and used wine. "But I like it here. It's diverse and there's always something going on, always a new restaurant to try or a new store to check out. And a little danger keeps me on my toes. I hate boredom."

It took a moment for Rachel to open the five locks on her door, but when she opened it Sara saw a warm and very homey apartment. In front of her was a dining room with a heavy, old set of table and chairs, and against the wall was a china cabinet. To the right as they walked in there was a cozy living room fronted with what looked like a little solarium, while to the left was a doorway leading to the kitchen. The whole place was decorated with older things, nothing actually antique but nothing newer than 20 years old except for the TV and a small desktop computer. Still, nothing was worn or run-down either. It looked almost like the apartment of a college student who was poor but was compulsively neat, had good taste and knew how to work thrift stores and Goodwills. A faint tangy smell like incense lingered in the air. The overall effect was comfortable and relaxed and it was almost impossible not to feel at home there. Sara set the bags down on the table while Rachel undertook the lengthy task of locking the door again, setting the intruder bar, and fastening chains. That the door needed six separate locks and guards to secure it didn't make Sara feel particularly safe, but she elected not to comment on it.

Once that was done, Rachel showed Sara the rest of the place: a small kitchen, a small bathroom, and a surprisingly large bedroom with a queen size bed. Every room had everything in its place. If Sara could keep this neat of a house, Isaac would never have cause to complain.

"What do you want to drink?" Rachel asked as Sara pulled some solid earthenware from the cabinet. "I have iced tea, Canada Dry, Coke, water of course, Jack Daniels, half a bottle of tequila, Bombay Sapphire, and some Surly's."

"What's Surly's?"

"It's a brewpub a few miles down the road. I just picked up some Darkness 2021. It's 12% ABV so beware the kick."

Oh no, Sara was not drinking with Rachel again! "Just the Canada Dry would be great."

They settled together on Rachel's large, comfortable sofa, one at each end. The food, still in its takeout containers, sat on the coffee table - Rachel put her feet up there when she had dished her plate, and after the first 20 minutes of Terminator Sara's feet went up too. They watched the movie, laughed at the acting and one-liners, ate their food, and generally had a good time. Rachel was a companionable person who quickly put to rest any lingering unease Sara had about the situation. This was just a girl's night with a new friend. And besides, she barely admitted to herself, seeing Arnie's perfect buns in the first couple of minutes didn't hurt anything!

When the credits rolled, Rachel brought the dishes to the kitchen and Sara put the leftovers in Tupperware and stashed them in the fridge. Rachel retrieved another container and asked, "You have room for a brownie?"

"No, but I can't say no to brownies, so yes," Sara laughed. And Rachel was as good as her word, because the brownie was a rich, soft, chewy, sweet, chocolatey delight. Sara tried to slow down and savor it but it was too delicious and she practically devoured it. She took a quick bathroom break and then it was back to the living room, a few minutes chatting about movies, and then Commando began.

This was Sara's favorite Arnie movie: it was silly, funny, goofy, exciting, and perfect. She joked with Rachel about this being the only classic Schwarzenegger movie that bothered to explain his accent. They joked more about how square the cars were and how wooden the acting was. Sara ended up snuggled comfortably in the corner of the sofa with her feet up on the cushions. I must really be getting along with Rachel, she thought. I'm so relaxed, but so...energetic?

About 25 minutes into the movie, Sara murmured, "I bet having Arnold as your father would make you feel so safe."

"Yeah, or having him as your guy," Rachel said. "Imagine making babies with him!"

Sara fell quiet because she began doing just that, not even seeing the movie because of the dirty video playing behind her eyes: her being taken, helpless to stop him even if she wanted to (which she wouldn't!), her hands on his massive shoulders as he covered her body with his and kissed her...

Five minutes later Sara suddenly realized that she hadn't been paying attention to the movie and that she had a pleasant warm itch between her legs; immediately after that, she realized that she had her hand on her chest and had been squeezing her breast through her dress! She yanked her hand down to her side and her eyes darted toward Rachel, but the other woman didn't seem to have noticed a thing. That was lucky, but the whole thing was mortifying! Or at least it was mortifying in an abstract, semi-removed sense, like watching someone do something embarrassing in a movie. She wasn't quite sure why, but she couldn't feel as ashamed and humiliated by it as she knew she should have; in fact, after a few seconds where she made sure her new friend hadn't observed her, she had to suppress a giggle about how abashed she would have felt had she been spotted...

The movie rolled on but Sara found it harder and harder to pay attention. The erotic visions wouldn't leave her head and somehow Isaac had gotten mixed up with Arnold in her head, one's face on the other's body, all the while doing deliciously wicked things to her, all the while building a foreign ache inside her abdomen; it wasn't until Arnold was climbing into a boat in nothing but a Speedo that she finally figured it out: for the first time in her life, she ached to be filled. It had become physically painful not to be fucked. She covered her abdomen with a hand and let out a complaining, "Owww..."

Rachel looked at her sharply, with more concern than the mild sound warranted. "What is it? Are you OK?"

"My ovaries hurt..."

"Mine too," Rachel grinned as she relaxed. A few seconds later she reached over and gave Sara's calf a playful squeeze. "Damn girl, your legs are like steel!"

"Just like Arnie's hot buns!" A second later, realizing what she'd said, Sara burst into laughter. "I don't know what's gotten into me tonight!" Rachel just chuckled and kept her hand on Sara's calf, kneading it gently. Sara thought it felt nice. In a few minutes her legs were across Rachel's lap and Rachel had her dress up to her knees, rubbing first one stocking-clad leg and then the other as Sara focused on the movie.

And still the filthy thoughts intensified. An image came to her mind unbidden of Arnold picking her up as though she weighed nothing and kissing her lustfully. She would be like a child in his arms and she wouldn't be able to do a thing to stop him - all she would be able to do would be to wrap her legs around his hard body and kiss him back like she'd kissed Rachel in the bar. And then he could lift her just a little higher and let her fall right onto his hard penis and she would take him into her body just as far as he could go...

The credits were rolling and Sara had no idea where the last 20 minutes had gone. She blinked slowly in surprise, suddenly aware that she was feeling warm all over. Had she dozed? She had that funny feeling like her brain was viewing everything through a sheet of gauze that she got sometimes after taking a nap. Her nipples were digging hard into the inside of her bra and tenting her dress, and her vagina felt hot and soaked and itchy. Rachel was still rubbing her legs in long, languid strokes from her ankles to above her knees and grinning at her (I should stop her, that's not right, but it feels so nice and it's not hurting anything).

"You look like you enjoyed the movie."

Sara smiled dreamily and made a sound halfway between a chuckle and a moan. "I did! We should watch it again."

"Maybe." Rachel seemed amused by the idea. "Your eyes were all glassy at the end there. What were you thinking about?"

Sara giggled and blushed, and almost told Rachel the truth before she thought better of it. She couldn't tell her friend she'd been thinking such dirty thoughts! Before she knew it she was lying: "I was thinking about what schmoopy talk from Arnold would be like. You know, 'Oh my sweedhaaht, I luff you for effa.'"

Rachel grinned hugely. "Yo-a eyes loog so luffly in da moonlidt..."

"Led's nod go out. I vanna snuckle wid you by de fiya."

"A loav of bret, a chug of vine, und dou," Rachel said, and at that point Sara collapsed into hysterics and Rachel followed a moment later, with an initial gale of laughter subsiding into giggles that flared back up into laughter when they looked at each other.