I'm Dating Our Mailgirl Ch. 03

I quickly realized we weren't going to be permitted into this small social circle and I took 9's hand and we went to a table. "I'm getting sick and tired of you being treated like dirt. If we can't get a little civility from three dykes in a lesbian bar, I give up." I don't like using that word. I know I referred to 9 and me with that term, but I was so mad that's just the contempt I had for them.

"Grow up, Monica. That's what I am and you need to accept it. You can't conduct a crusade to have me accepted, to have us and our relationship accepted." It was dawning on me. Anyone who saw us together was open and accepting. Even if they saw her 9 and knew it's significance. But if they worked at Seahawk, we were persona non grata. This realization just reinforced what Olivia was telling me.

We ordered some food and drinks. I was still agitated and 9 was remarkable calmer than I was. Maybe her meds were kicking in again. She knew I really liked exotic savory items and suggest the Charcuterie platter which consisted of capicola, salami, prosciutto and olives. I ordered her a wedge salad "to share" so she wouldn't starve. We ate, we danced, we caressed, we kissed. We even struck up some civil conversions with some of the "non-Seahawk" patrons. I did mellow out and then at the end of the evening, we returned to my apartment.

I brought 9 into the bedroom. She had shed her clothing as soon as I shut the apartment door. I noticed a tampon string hanging out. I remembered her making a couple of extra trip to the restroom at the Triangle. I commented, "I see Aunt Flow will be sleeping with us tonight."

"I'm sorry. But it's Niagara Falls down there now. Those estrogen hormones the are pumping us full of really kick in." I kissed her so that she would know that I understood.

I continued, "You know I bought us some toys. You weren't interested in them a couple of weeks ago when I first told you about them, but now, . . " I smiled at her, "maybe you'd be interested."

"I don't understand." I went into one of my bureau drawers and brought out a pelvic harness in one hand and a long narrow dildo in the other. "Show time."

"But I'm out of commission."

"Not your ass hole."

She laughed, "You want to fuck me in the asshole? With a dildo?"

"That's what it's designed for. Just a little less obtrusive than a regular dildo."

"This is wild." She was still kind of giggling and clearly she was intrigued. "I've never taken anything in the asshole. Well, not since I had stopped up plumbing when I was twelve and I had to take an enema."

I give the dildo a series of half twirls back and forth like a baton. "So are you up for it?"

She hugged me and said, "I need the intimacy from you. Sure, let's give it a go."

"9, we're both new at this. Do you mind if I asked you to shower so that you're completely fresh down there?"

"Only if you join me. And you clean me out down there."

We shared a shower and I was meticulous in making sure she was completely clean in there. She returned the favor of soaping me up and cleaning me off paying particular attention to my pussy. Before we left the shower, I got down on my knees and went to the back door. I commented, "I want to make sure I got it completely clean." I ran my tongue around her sphincter. She squealed with delight. Then I stuck my tongue in her freshly cleaned ass hole and she shouted with delight. I wondered it my neighbors could hear her. I brought her to a climax. Then I took her by the hand; I gently dried her off and she halfheartedly did the same thing for me. She was still coming off the mountain of ecstasy and must have been in a weakened condition. I led her to the bed and laid her down.

"Do you need some more time to recover?"

"No, no. I want you to ram it home." I inserted the dildo into the hole and put on the harness."

She squealed with delight, "This is wild. Wait until the girls hear about this." It didn't bother me that she would be sharing this intimate moment with the other mailgirls. It was kind of like my sorority sisters sharing their various sexual experiences. I handed her a tube of lubricant and she applied it, laughing uproariously as she did so. She rolled over on her hands and knees. "All right, drivers. Start you engines. Let's head down the ole Hershey Highway."

I had to insert the dildo gently. I placed it gently into her anus and she gave out an audible groan. But it was a groan of pleasure. That encouraged me to keep inserting. I was hesitant to thrust it back and forth at first, but I eventually had it inserted all the way in and I could feel the flesh from the front of my pelvic area next to the flesh of her buttocks. There was nowhere else to go except back and forth, and that is what I did.

She gave out cries which I was afraid were cries of pain, but then I could tell they were cries of ecstatic pleasure. Back and forth I went. My hands were placed on her waist and then I moved them onto her back. Back and forth, back and forth. My hands gently caressed her neck, her cheek bone, her ears. Down to her breasts. As soon as they hit her nipples, another squeal of pleasure. Back and forth, back and forth.

Eventually, she whimpered, "Stop, oh, please stop. I can't take it anymore."

"Is it too painful?" I asked solicitously?

"No, no, it's too intense. I can't take the pleasure." I stopped thrusting but didn't withdraw the dildo. I rolled her over so that we were on our sides but the immobile dildo was still in her ass hole. We stayed there for 10 minutes. She made no verbal plea for me to withdraw the joy stick.

I withdrew the dildo and we both collapsed. I held her in my arms. My swayed my hips gently and the inanimate object rubbed against her flesh. She rolled over and kissed me. She kissed me all over. She couldn't reach my cunt because the harness was blocking it. Neither of us made an effort to remove the harness, but it really wasn't necessary. This bath of kisses was arousing me enough. We fell asleep eventually. Only when I woke up in the middle of the night did I slip off the harness.

I woke up in the morning and 9 was not in the bed. She was not in the bathroom. I could see enough of the living room to see she wasn't on the couch. I went into the living room and I saw her sitting on the balcony. I walked to the french door that opened onto the balcony but I didn't go onto the balcony. I was naked. I was getting over my need to have a night garment on when I made love to 9. She was pensively sitting on a chair completely naked. Her right leg was hanging down, but her left leg was folded upright on the seat of the chair. Her hands were folded onto her left knee and her chin rested on her hands. She looked like the cover photo on a romantic lesbian paperback. "Well, aren't you a pretty sight." My comment seemed to rouse her from her reverie.

"Come join me out here."

"Let me go attend to my toilet and get some clothes on," I didn't suggest she should put on something.

The enclosure on my balcony is metal with sleek metal balusters in keeping with the architecture of our apartment building. Otherwise, the area is wide open with virtually no privacy. Every apartment has a balcony, and you can see onto most of the balconies below you and to a large extent those not to far about you, like maybe the balcony of Apt. 1908, two stories up and two apartments over.

I guess I'm getting over my discomfort with 9 displaying her nude body to the residents of my building. And now even people in other buildings near us could see her. I sat down with her and held her hand. I commented to her, "a penny for your thoughts."

She reflected and finally said, "I'm so happy you made me a part of your life. I can't imagine what would have become of me if you hadn't asked me out."

I smiled, "Don't make me tear up."

She continued, "you have no idea how much these weekends spent with you mean to me. And, next Halloween, at the masquerade party. Wow, I can't believe how exciting my life has become."

"We need to eat. I'm going to fix us some breakfast. Do you want to stay out here or do you want to help me?"

She stood up and walked over to the railing. She faced outward and placed her hands on the handrail. She was completely exposed to anyone who cared to look.

"Let me stay out here. Can we eat our here?"

"Yes, of course. How about omelets?" I went to the kitchen and cracked a half-dozen eggs. I sauted some prosciutto, shallots, roma tomatoes and porcine mushrooms. I grated some Gruyere cheese to place in the body just before I flipped the omelet closed.

I brought out two plates and then went back for the drinks. "I hope you don't mind, but I made two French 75's. They are not as sweet as you favorite mimosas and you know I like a touch of savory in my food and drink."

"I've never had one before." She took a sip, "Wow, that will really wake you up. What's in it?"

"Champagne, gin, lemon juice, and sugar," We ate, drank and chatted. "I need to go grocery shopping later today. You will join me, won't you?"

"Of course."

"I thought we could eat here. I wanted to fix some pan seared scallops, asparagus with a parmesan and brown butter risotto."

"That sounds delicious. Do you have anything planned for us for the evening?"

"Wait a minute." I went inside and got one of those weekly tabloid what's-going-on-around-town papers that were distributed everywhere. "I picked this up Wednesday at work. I thought if might give us some ideas." I speared it out between us and started leafing through it. I got to the listing of lesbian bars and started mumbling excerpts from the reviews. "Does anything sound interesting?"

She flipped the pages and said, "Wait a minute, this looks interesting." It was a section on cultural events. "There a new exhibit by women artists opening at the Space Gallery. Can we please go?"

"Of course. Heck, I may learning something going there with you."

That was how the rest of the day went. We shopped for groceries, and I asked 9, "you said you can't afford anything by ramen. What if I bought you some groceries so you could fix yourself something a little fancier."

"I'm good. Between the ramen and what you prepare for me on the weekends, that's more than enough. That and the gruel."

I would have been insulted that she included my elaborate meals among her 3 principal food groups: Monica's cooking, ramen and gruel. But I considered it as more evidence of how they are programming her into submission.

We lounged around drinking French 75's and showered each other with kissed but didn't make love. We knew that would come later. 9 had dressed in jeans and a blouse for the shopping but shed her clothes as soon as we got back.

Late afternoon I started preparing supper. She joined me in the kitchen. She asked, "Can we eat it on the balcony again?"

"Can I stop you? 9, I know you've never been shy about displaying your body. But you seem to becoming bolder."

"I told you at work I'm naked because I have to be, and I am constantly bothered by it. When I'm with you, I'm naked because I want to be and it's a liberating feeling. Plus those female hormones they have me pumped up with always keep my libido in overdrive."

"Can you describe the feeling you have when you eat your gruel?"

"It's like a skyrocket shooting into the sky. Not when it actually explodes, but just before it bursts into noise and fireworks. It's the anticipation. 13 hours a day I'm on the verge of an explosion. Only at the end of the day and I take my final shower does the release come. And it is such blessed release. Wow, I'm sorry, I can't describe it any better."

"No, you're doing a good job." Silence, a long pause. I continued, "The other morning when you went down on 7, describe that to me."

"I don't want to talk about it." I backed off.

"What about the fluoxetine. What does that do for you?"

She looked up as if composing her thoughts. "It puts me in a happy place. I'm in a meadow or I'm walking down a garden path. My feet aren't touching the ground. I'm walking a foot off the ground."

"I hope you can take me to that happy place some day." I leaned over and kissed her. I suckled at her breasts. She returned the gesture. When we paused, I wondered, but did not say out loud, that's a strange description. I wonder if they are putting hallucinogenic drugs in their gruel. But with 9's psychosis, she probably doesn't need any to be carried away to a "happy place".

I told 9 the art gallery was about 10 blocks from my apartment. I asked her if she was up to walking there. She responded yes, and I wanted to make sure her cramps weren't too bad. "No, I'll be fine."

AT THE GALLERY

We each dressed in our dressy pants suits. I brought a large bag and we put our high heel shoes in it and wore comfortable shoes as we walked. 9 grabbed my hand as we walked. She alternated between holding hands and having her arm in mine. I was not the least bit self-confident about flaunting my newly found sexuality in public. In fact, I rather reveled in the rebelliousness. She even occasionally kissed me. I think she did that as we passed elderly couples who I'm guessing she was guessing would not approve of two lesbians so blatantly walking hand in hand on a public street.

We switched shoes just before we went in. I thought we made an adorable couple. I told her we could have made a Kim Crawford wine commercial.

When we got to the door, we were asked for our invitation. We looked at each other. Neither of us realized it was by invitation only. We confessed our faux pas to the person checking invitations at the door. I don't feel we really caused any sort of a ruckus, but a woman who we later learned was the owner of the gallery came to the door. We again told her our mistake. Then 9's Bryn Mawr education in art history kicked into high gear. She meekly, certainly not boastfully, told the owner her credentials and turned on the charm about having made an honest error and how we really wanted to see the new exhibition. The owner, Allyson Tyner, was completely captivated by 9. "Your invitations must have gotten lost in the mail. I'm so sorry. Please make sure you are on our mailing list." She winked, "Actually, you two girls will add a lot of class to the crowd. And I certainly think you will liven things up."

We made a quick trip around the exhibition area, hand-in-hand. We stopped by the guest register and signed in. They solicited our address. 9 put her name as "9" and put my address as "our" address.

We mingled with the crowd and 9 charmed them all. When she introduced herself as "9" there was no visible questioning reaction. Her blouse was sleeveless but the bold 9 on her upper arm raised no more questions than the beautiful young woman with a nose ring, and tattoos covering her arms and what was visible of her legs did. And I don't mean a 10 mm 20 gram 14 carat gold ring. I was a stainless steel ring that would have made Elsie envious. I whispered to 9, "I wonder how much those tattoos cover?"

She laughed, "Behave yourself. Do you want to make a wager who actually finds out?" She giggled again. I was a little bothered by her "joke" that suggested that each of us should try to see this woman naked. Chill out, Monica. It was just a joke. I hope.

We were admiring some of the works when a distinguished looking gentleman

maybe about 50, with a Van Dyke beard, salt and pepper, to match his immaculately groomed hair came over. "Pardon me, but aren't you Monica Ross and 9?"

"Yes." I didn't realize that our notoriety was that widespread.

"Oh, I'm delighted to meet you. I'm Ted Winthrop. 1908 Ted Winthrop?"

"Oh, you're our neighbor, on the 19th floor."

"Yes, yes. You have no idea how disappointed Jennifer and I were that you didn't come to our little get together the other evening."

I explained, "9 really wanted us to go, but I didn't want to crash you party uninvited."

"Well, don't you ever worry about that in the future. Now that we have been introduced, I feel we are old friends. Will you two be attending the Dickson's masquerade ball on Thursday?"

I replied for both of us, "Yes, we're looking forward to it."

"I don't want to gloat, but I think Jennifer has come up with an outstanding costume for us. I don't want to give anything away, but let's just say we will be reconstruction a scene that has been captured on canvas by Michelangelo, Leonardo, Rubens, Titian, Cezanne, Correggio."

9 was impressed. "Wow, that's an impressive recitation of a who's who of famous artists. Are you an artist, Mr. Winthrop?"

"Please, Ted. No, not really. But I do fancy myself a decent photographer. I just consider myself a patron of the arts. In fact I have a very small ownership interest in this gallery. When Allyson was seeking funding to open this gallery I was privileged that she sought me out as a potential investor."

9 perked up, not that she wasn't interested in the conversation before, "So, do you think you might be interested in investing an another new gallery?"

"Since I sold my business, I'm always looking for new investments."

Suddenly I became more interested in this intriguing gentleman. "What business were you in?"

"Manure. I sold shit." 9 and I both laughed, not just at the subject of the comment, but he had been so precise in his language and then to come out with that remark.

She explained our laughter, "I'm sorry, you are so distinguished and precise in your language, we were taken aback by that remark."

"As soon as I graduated from college, I recognized an opportunity. Cattle farmers were producing a lot of shit. I arranged to collect it, process it, package it, distribute and market it. You have no idea how lucrative shit can be."

9 remarked forlornly, "Oh, in my job, I can just imagine."

Ted continued, "I understand you are a mailgirl."

9 chuckled, "How could you tell?" as she glanced at her arm.

"Yes, it was rather self evident. Tell me, 9, the stories I hear are that your life is wretched and miserable, yet you seem to be so happy."

"Monica puts me in a happy place." She kissed me, not passionately, but a bit more than a friendly peck on the lips.

"Forgive me, I hope I'm not rude or impertinent, but I hear most of the mailgirls are practitioners of the art of sapphic pleasure?"

"You mean we're all a bunch of dykes?"

"Yes, well I didn't mean to be so blunt."

"That's alright. In fact, when I first became a mailgirl I was unfamiliar with the 'art of sapphic pleasure'" She giggled. "I love saying that. It makes it sound so alluring. Even after 3 month on the job, I had never been with a woman. But Monica changed all that."

I jumped into the conversation, "Wait a minute, you make me sound like some female Svengali going around seducing young girls for my love nest. I was just as inexperienced as she was when we became lovers almost a month ago."

"We're going to have to get together soon and spend some time so you an tell me all about this. You obviously don't mind talking about it."

We looked at each other. I replied for both of us, "Well, we weren't looking to publish an article in the Dykes Digest. But you're so charming. And you are so interesting I would look forward to further conversations."

Just then a woman joined us. "Jennifer, have you met these two charming creatures?" Creatures isn't exactly the most flattering way to be described, but he said it with such charm, we took it as a compliment.

"No, no, I haven't." Ted introduce us and gave a brief background that he had gathered.

"So do you share your husband's interest in art, Mrs. Winthrop?" 9 inquired.

"She politely but firmly corrected 9, "It's Ms. Trent."

Ted added, "And regrettably we aren't married. We haven't sought the benefit of clergy." That old fashioned charm came out again in his language. 9 picked up on it.