Impact 02: of Collusion

We're sitting across from each other at Janet's miniature dining room table. A round oak antique, just big enough to seat two. She pours me the last of the "orange wine" and gets up for another bottle.

"I'm so glad you like it!" I beam.

"LIKE IT?" Claire asks in mock outrage from the kitchen, she is banging around looking for the corkscrew. "Oh my God Sarah, that's the best meal I've had in months!!! You are going to make a wonderful wife!"

"The wine opener is right out on the counter, it's red," I call to her. "As for wife, I'll need to find someone who doesn't mind vegetarian..."

Claire re-emerges smiling and waving the little red corkscrew in triumph.

"I'd go vegetarian this minute if I got to keep you!" she pledges. "And giving up foie gras is no small thing for a Parisian... still, I wouldn't hesitate."

"Well thank you," I say blushing a little at the flirty compliment.

"Was Danny a good lover?"

"What?" I sputter into my wine, no longer blushing just a little.

"I'm sorry," Claire laughs. "I didn't mean- it's just you were with him so long. I thought maybe..."

She holds her hands up, far enough apart for me to choke at the image.

"NO!" I roar. "I mean, Jesus, he wasn't a donkey if that's what you're asking."

"It's just that you were together so long," she tells me, pulling the cork with a satisfying pop. "There must have been something?"

"When we started dating I was really young," I justify. "Danny was two years older, and popular - captain of the hockey team - handsome - all that. He just... he always seemed SO mature, and my parents really liked him... loved him. Our families went to the same church. I don't think he knew I was alive when we were growing up, but I always looked up to him and the other older kids. Honestly I think that's why we were together so long - the church, our families. Our parents were devastated when we broke up - still are."

"But you should be with someone that makes you happy," she says signaling for me to finish my glass. I obey and she pours me a dram of the new wine. I follow her example, swish my glass clean before drinking it down and handing her the empty glass. She refills it and hands it back, giving me a hard look. "So was he any good?"

"I was so young..." I start. "I haven't really been with anyone else."

"But you must have-" Claire says, clearly shocked. I remember making out with William, his hands on me, how awkward it had been, his embarrassment, how hard I'd tried to paper over it. I can feel myself blushing.

"My first time was awful," she admits quickly, covering over my obvious embarrassment, for which I'm grateful. "He was an older boy, but clumsy and short lived, and too BIG!"

She held her hands apart again and we both start laughing hard, especially when she pantomimes holding something as big around as a can of Coke in one hand. "Ah putain! This fucking donkey. I was horrified when I saw it!"

"Did it hurt?" I want to know. I've always been curious what it would feel like. Danny wasn't tiny, but he wasn't big either. I thought of the time Kwasi had shown me his erection, how long and thick it was. It had been on a dare, we had been playing some stupid drinking game, he'd turned so only I could see it. He'd rolled his foreskin back to show me his dark bulbous glans. I only had to look, but after looking in his eyes for approval I'd taken him in my hand. It had felt very different from Danny's, thicker and somehow denser. I couldn't imagine how it would feel inside. It must have shown on my face. Kwasi and the others had laughed at my expression as he'd put himself away.

Claire's eyes narrow and she gives me a knowing smile. "I think Young Sarah's curiosity isn't entirely idle..."

"No!" I cry, feeling myself flush.

Claire is laughing very hard now, her face turning red as she desperately tries not to spit out her wine.

"You are a talented actrice," she tells me, "but a terrible liar."

I take a long drink, trying to cover my embarrassment, or perhaps drown it. I drop my eyes and bury my chin in my neck.

"Oh no! But don't feel bad, please don't hide. You mustn't!" Claire beseeches. "Besides, you have the prettiest complexion. I love how easily you color - there it is again!"

I cover my face, laughing at my own embarrassment.

"Really," she said prying gently at my fingers, "don't feel bad. I will tell you about every big dick I ever had... especially if it keeps you blushing."

And she does.

And I very much do keep blushing.

It is a bawdy raunchy night and Claire tells me EVERYTHING. We hoot and holler and God help us, we finish the fourth bottle. The kitchen is still a mess and the table a wreck between us. At some point Claire gets up to clear her plate and I see right away how drunk she is.

"No leave it," I tell her, standing, and realizing how drunk I am. I make an executive decision. "Leave it all. We'll take care of it in the morning. Let's get you something to sleep in."

Claire wrinkles her brow, perhaps preparing to refuse my invitation to stay, or protest her own sobriety, but then thinks better of it. Sticking out her lip in a pout, she puts down her plate.

I wonder idly if it's because she realizes she was drunk, or because I'm going to put her in bed clothes.

Perhaps it's a little vindictive of me, but remembering the tiny shirt Claire gave me to sleep in, I give her the smallest shirt I own.

I debate whether or not to wear a t-shirt as well. In a moment of stubbornness, or maybe just wanting to show off for Claire, I choose my nightie.

I am brushing my teeth when Claire comes in behind me seeing what I have on, she of course makes a fuss, laughing as I blush yet again.

"It's too lovely!" she says, touching my shoulder, and turning me, for a better look.

'Itch wha I alwaysh shwear,' I slush past my toothbrush and through my embarrassment, as I spin for her, painfully aware that I'm echoing her explanation from this morning for sleeping in the nude.

"Of course," she says, giving me a wry smile and asking to use my toothbrush.

"Jush ushe your finger!" I mumble possessively. Watching her in the mirror I feel unaccountably greedy, as if sharing one's toothbrush were the most normal thing in the world. But still, I am unwilling to share.

Claire looks adorable in my short black t-shirt. It shows off her narrow waist and flat belly. She's wearing black silk bikini panties that just cover the little triangular mound of her mons and sit low on her tush, leaving half her crack exposed.

Putting the toothpaste on her finger, she brings it to her lips, looking at it suspiciously. She pushes it in her mouth and begins to scrub, her brows wrinkling, she glares at me in the mirror covetously, watching me brushing my teeth.

"How about you?" Claire asks me once we are all tucked into my bed, her hazel eyes shining in the dark. "What's the hottest thing you've ever done?"

"I haven't done anything," I tell her. "Nothing like you. No Algerians or Norwegians, just one goon from Buffalo..."

"Yes yes yes, but there must be something, a favorite..." Claire says, her eyes hooded, lashes long and still moist from washing her face.

"Nothing as hot as the Norwegians," I admit, thinking about it. "But Danny and I had sex in Central Park once... during the day. I came right away, like as soon as he pressed into me."

"Sarah, what a naughty girl. You've been holding out on me!"

"It was just once, and it was over before it started," I tell her defensively, but then admit, "I... think about it a lot."

"Mmmm," she almost moans in agreement. "I have certain things I 'think of a lot' too..."

She is smiling, her eyelids almost closed. I feel her shifting her weight, struggling with her shirt.

"...especially when I'm tired, but too worked up to sleep... like now," she whispers, her voice husky with sleep, the shirt pulling up over her face. "I can't... this... let me?"

I'm falling asleep but grunt my assent as she squirms and struggles, finally pulling off the little black t-shirt.

Claire settles down and shifts next to me, rearranging herself. My eyes are closed but I listen as her breathing changes, as she positions herself on her back.

I am mashing myself deeper into my pillow when I feel her shoulder begin to make small rhythmic movements. At first I think I'm imagining it, that I must be... but I open my eyes a slit and I think I can see the duvet moving at her midriff, and then I most definitely see her other hand moving under the covers, moving over her breasts.

I make myself go still. Did I tell her to do this? Is 'this' really what I think it is? My heart is thundering in my chest. I feel like she must be able to hear it.

Claire begins to twist her neck with pleasure, as her knees rise and pull the duvet down to just above her nipples. Her bare shoulders are exposed. If I had any doubt before, all doubt is gone now.

'Is this a French thing?" I wonder. I am shocked, but also captivated. Keeping my eyes hooded, almost closed. It's like the dream, I am watching Claire, entirely rapt.

Her shoulders are thin and lean. I feel like I can see individual muscles pulling over fine bones beneath her pale skin. The delicate blue veins of her neck showing as she stretches with pleasure.

'She thinks I'm asleep,' I tell myself. 'If she knew I were watching she would be mortified.'

I should be mortified. I am spying on her, but I can't look away. My whole body is flush. Part of what I'm feeling is shame. I have never been comfortable touching myself. She looks so entirely at ease. Cumming has always been... difficult for me. I had been too ashamed to tell Claire, but the only time I ever orgasmed with Danny was the one time in Central Park. And masturbating has always been just as fraught for me to do...

'Alone,' I think hypocritically.

But I am also recalling my fantasy of her naked, spread across the sofa; remembering the dream, the feel of her ass against my face. I take a deep breath, inhaling slowly, trying to keep from shaking, from making a sound.

'Who am I to judge?' I wonder, thinking of the things I've done, as she moans softly and looks my way. My eyes are barely open. She is looking directly into my eyes, but can't see that I'm watching... I'm almost positive. My heart is thundering in my chest. Not because I'm shocked by what she's doing, I realize, I'm afraid she'll stop. My whole body is responding to hers. I'm wet.

I can see Claire's shoulder really working now, feel her elbow moving against my belly. The mattress gives as she rolls her hips, and spreads her legs until one thigh is resting on mine, until the duvet was pulled down off my shoulder, down past her breasts. I can see her free hand squeezing and pulling at her dark nipple. They are stiff and long.

Her breasts are smaller than mine, but not small, and exquisitely formed. They looked firm, standing up off her chest, topped by those dark confectionery nipples - which shine in the dim light of my bedroom.

I want to touch her thigh resting on mine, I want to squeeze her but I don't want her to stop. I don't want to stop watching her, her small movements are like avalanches or explosions, but I am frozen - afraid if I move, she'll stop. Nothing left to watch.

'She's masturbating in my bed,' I think. Her thigh is on mine, rubbing it softly. 'She's masturbating on me.'

Realizing with a shock that I am squeezing my breasts and tugging at my nipples in sympathy. I know I should stop, that I should stop her, but instead I just try and hide what I'm doing, afraid she'll see, but unable to stop.

I am quite certain I have never been as turned on as I am watching Claire. But I'm also certain that I have never been as sexy for anyone as Claire is being for herself. If I was a guy I would have cum just watching her. As it is I'm pressing my legs together as hard as I can and wishing I could touch myself. But I don't dare, for fear of shaming Claire, but also for fear of interrupting her. I don't want her to stop.

'I want to see her cum,' I realize.

Claire arches her back, her spread leg pressing down on my clenched thighs. The duvet is pulled down to her waist. I can clearly see her arm working at her center, a glimpse of her wrist appearing and disappearing beneath the covers. Her free hand is stroking her bare belly and taking swipes at her nipples, pinching them. But it's her face that has my attention. I thought I knew how beautiful Claire was, thought I'd seen her at her most elegant, her most beautiful, but this was something else again altogether.

I can see her blood moving in the flush of her cheeks, her skin seems transparent, seems to glow with the heat of her building pleasure. I am seeing her beauty for the first time, seeing it broken down by pleasure, deconstructed by ecstasy, and somehow rebuilt to an even greater height.

"Please..." she begs, her voice hardly a whimper. The sound is so raw, so tender.

She's looking at me, but my eyes are hooded, almost closed, it's dark. Surely she can't tell I'm watching her. I'm drooling. I can feel the spit wetting the pillow under my cheek. Biting her bottom lip, Claire squeezes her eyes closed. Tiny beads of sweat make her forehead and upper lip, her cheeks glisten. An expression of intense concentration crosses her face and her body begins to shake, almost vibrate, as her hand works furiously, slowly moving the duvet down until she is entirely exposed. I can see her hand and fingers - wet and frantic between her thighs.

"huh huh huh huh," her breath pulses, soft bursts, almost gasps.

It all stops, resolves for a brief instant as relief washing over her face. She closes her eyes and goes rigid, her whole body straining. Her jaw hinged as wide as it could go, making an almost silent cry as she cums against me.

"aaaaaaassassaaa!"

I lay there in silence, the covers are pushed down to our thighs. I can hear Claire regaining her breath, ragged gulps of air slowly morphing into deep rhythmic respiration. After a time she begins to snore very softly.

I can smell her.

I am wide awake, all I can think about is her movements and how I could feel them, her thigh pressing against me, how beautiful she was as she came. I want to touch myself, but I don't dare, terrified I'll wake her. I watch her sleeping, naked and uncovered, replaying her actions in my mind. The more I think about it, the more incessant my need.

I picture myself masturbating in front of Claire, of her watching me like I just watched her. I imagine spreading my legs wide, so she can see my fingers going in and out. The images get more and more extreme and lewd until I imagine kneeling over her face, rubbing my clit and squeezing my breast as she looks up at my pussy. In my fantasy my pussy is shaved bald. It's wet and smooth, hanging just above Claire's open mouth. It's so obscene. It's enough, I feel like I might cum just thinking about it.

I imagine looking out the windows and seeing a face watching us from a window across the street. Seeing me straddling Claire's face. I begin to shake and shudder. I'm cumming. I haven't even touched myself and I have to stifle a cry as a powerful orgasm blows through me.

It is a very long time before I'm able to fall asleep.

I wake up to the sounds of Claire moving around in the kitchen and the smell of coffee. Light is streaming in from the street, lighting up the bedroom's western wall.

"Good morning, beautiful!" Claire says, smiling and handing me a cup of coffee, and taking a seat on the edge of the bed next to me. My nightie is rucked up, I pull it down covering my belly. Claire is back in the little black t-shirt. Her hair pulled back.

"I need to go," she says, making a sad face. "Our artist arrives from Paris today and Paula, my boss, wants me to meet her at JFK. I cleaned the kitchen. How great is this Julius Caesar poster? How did I miss it last night? Is it ok if I take a rinse?"

This all comes out in an exuberant rush. I nod and watch her disappear into the bathroom through sleep-caked eyes and reappear almost instantly, looking fresh and smelling of my soap. She gives me a quick kiss on each cheek and in a swirl of words she's gone.

My head was pounding. I couldn't remember having drunk that much in, well... since the night before. I'm not sure I can keep up with Claire. Next to the coffee on my bedside table was a glass of water and two Tylenol.

"Lucky girl," I told myself.

I took them, and gulped at the water. It was cool and fresh. Rolling over I pulled the duvet back over my head, in an effort to block out as much light as I could, I took a deep breath.

Head under the covers, I could smell Claire on my sheets, her old fashion smell I found myself imagining came from some legacy perfumery in Paris, but also the smell of her sex. She had marked my bed. I closed my eyes, slipped in and out of a light sleep, and dreamed of our tangled limbs.

I got up a couple hours later and found my kitchen clean and everything put away where it belongs. There was a thank you note on the little dining room table.

C'était une délicieuse soirée, merci beaucoup. J'avais la peau du ventre bien tendu.

xoxo C

I decided to take a soak. I stood shivering in the bathroom, the tap roared with water. I looked at myself in the mirror. My hair was a fright. My nightie is see through, I could see my breasts clearly; my nipples.

'Why did you wear this?' I wondered. I felt foolish; blamed myself for what had happened. If Claire had known I'd watched what would she think of me? I tugged at the hem of my nightie. I felt silly and more naked than if I weren't wearing anything at all.

I lifted the frilly transparent thing over my head and hung it on the door; pushed my panties down. I left them in a pile on the floor and stepped into the tub. I tried my best to let the heat deliver me from my shame and embarrassment. I pushed myself under the water; held my breath as long as I could, perhaps I hoped my regrets and misgivings would dissolve? When I surfaced my chest was still tight with the feeling that I'd made a terrible mistake.

I covered my eyes with a wet washcloth, but I kept seeing Claire's face as she came. I thought of my fantasy; of her sprawled out on the white couch, her legs spread, her pussy bald. I'd seen Claire naked twice now - glimpsed really, too shy to have actually looked. I'd watched her masturbate, but again, not bold enough to have raised my head and watched. I haven't actually seen her bush. I wondered if she is shaved... she could be, or it could be trimmed very short.

I soaped up my legs and began shaving. I don't have a lot of body hair, and what little I have is translucent and reddish, so fine it's almost invisible. Still, moving slowly and taking much more care than I might normally, I shaved my legs. Repeatedly soaping my hands and using the lubrication to feel for any errant stubble, I went over and over them until my legs were perfectly smooth to the touch. I pushed myself up and took a seat at the back of the tub and lathered my pubes. Again, my bush was small and the hairs were fine and soft to the touch; a light reddish blonde. ("The carpet matches the drapes," I heard Danny boast to a friend once.)

I have always trimmed my pubes a bit in the summers, but otherwise I've never really groomed, never really had to.

I spread my legs and balanced my feet on the edge of the tub. I began by trimming them short with a pair of scissors, then shaved what little hair I have on my lips. Again, I used soapy fingertips in search of any errant hairs or stubble. I began shaving the triangle of my bush from the outside, and like my legs I took great care and stopped repeatedly to examine the shaved skin with soap-slicked fingertips.