Somewhere Over the Rainbow

Katja spread her arms and swirled around. "Like it?"

"I love it," Bríd said. Her mouth felt dry. She had half a mind to skip the procession and go straight back to the hotel, but the painter lady interrupted her thoughts.

"What would you like?" she asked with a kind smile.

Bríd was taken by surprise, though it was probably silly. She should have understood she'd be offered body paint too. She wanted to decline altogether, and then she wanted to ask for a small flag on her cheek, but somehow couldn't say either. She looked at Katja, who was beaming and posing for the full-length mirror, checking herself out, and in some fit of insanity she started to pull off her top.

Katja recognized the significance of the moment. Her lips formed a perfectly round o, her eyebrows shot up, and she looked like she was going to say something. Bríd turned away from both her and the painter lady, and unhooked her bra. She didn't manage anything close to the level of casuality Katja had, but she did toss her clothes on the same pile as Katja had, and stood still. Her heart was thumping violently against her ribs.

The paint felt cold on her skin. She was so sensitized that every stroke of the brush made her shiver, and her nipples tightened almost painfully. To distract herself she looked over to Katja, who was smiling encouragingly. She looked amazing in her war paint, like a queer warrior princess.

In ten minutes she was done, and the painter lady attached star-shaped nipple stickers and flashed a smile at her. Then, to Bríd's horror, she gestured for them to step outside, and Katja scooped up their clothes and stuffed them into the rainbow-colored canvas bag that held their water bottles and purses. Bríd panicked. She hadn't thought this through, and the idea of stepping outside like this filled her with horror.

"Næst," the painter shouted and opened the flap of the tent. Two very furry gay men were waiting to step inside, and Katja took Bríd by the hand and pulled her out.

"But..." she objected, not knowing which way to turn her body so that she wouldn't be facing the crowd.

Katja cocked her head. "You look amazing," she said quietly. "But if you're too uncomfortable, you can put your top back on. Maybe wait a few minutes first for the paint to dry."

"But..."

Katja stepped to stand in front of her. She cowered in her shadow, peeking over her shoulder nervously. Nobody was looking at her. The sun felt very warm on her skin.

"Oh, I know!" Katja said. "Come here."

Bríd gulped and followed her to the next stall. It featured accessories and knick knacks, and Katja pointed to a pile of pride-themed feather masks. "How about that? Would that help?"

It just might help. Bríd considered her options, and focusing on the task made her panic level lower a little. Her heart was still thumping like crazy. She thought wildly that this day would be a whole month's worth of cardio all in one go, and then she picked up the blackest sunglasses she could find. They were pilot glasses, big and bulky, and once she put them on she felt better. Like they had rendered her invisible. Or invincible.

"Oo, sexy," Katja said.

Bríd rolled her eyes at her, but of course the gesture went unnoticed. Katja paid for the glasses, and they loitered further, hand in hand.

"You're so brave," Katja said and squeezed her hand. "I didn't think you'd go for this!"

"Me neither, for what it's worth," Bríd mumbled. "Can we talk about something else?"

"Sure! ...oh look, I think the procession will start from there!"

Katja pulled her along to where people were gathering near a few pickup trucks. Bríd did her best to just follow her, focus on the surroundings, and forget that she was half naked in front of all these strangers. In front of the world. The wind still felt like a caress on her skin, and the stickers on her nipples made her very aware of her breasts. But Katja held her by the hand, and Katja looked amazing, and the music was playing. She saw smiling faces everywhere she looked, but nobody was smiling at her, nobody was really looking at her. And why should they, when Katja was by her side, and she looked like a pride goddess?

The procession started slowly, trickling away from the park. Katja tossed their canvas bag on the bed of one of the pickups, and they settled to walk behind it. They didn't belong to any of the sections with banners and unified appearances, like the young, beautiful gay men all in pink curly wigs, or the rainbow families with colorful rainbow balloons tied to their pushchairs, but that didn't matter; they had a section of two, and this was where they belonged.

The Reyjkavikians had painted a whole street as a rainbow. Katja shrieked of joy when they set upon it, and it was so contagious that all Bríd could do was laugh. Music was playing, flags were flying, and all the bystanders smiled and waved. Bríd had never felt as present in all her life, like she belonged, like she was a part of something bigger than herself. Katja danced, and she did, too, and their rainbow bodies felt very purposeful and right. Bríd didn't feel naked anymore, she felt something else, something new and delightful. She felt alive.

They had danced to six or seven songs, and marched for maybe two blocks--the procession was very slow and kept pausing for indeterminable times--when the wind picked up. Katja's hair was flying almost horizontally, it kept getting on her mouth and making her laugh. Bríd's black glasses suddenly felt too black, and when she peeked from behind them she realized that the day had darkened considerably. Massive thunderclouds had rolled in from the sea, and now all the pride flags were flapping like crazy. A few balloons had escaped from the family section and they shot skywards and inland almost frighteningly fast.

Bríd reached for Katja's hand just as the first fat raindrops fell on her skin. It made her remember her near-nudity once again, and the hair on her arms tried to stand up under the layer of paint. The water felt very cold on her sun-baked skin. Katja looked at her, she looked at Katja, and then the heavens fell upon them.

The rain was so heavy it was more like a flood. Gray wall of falling water engulfed them, prickling their skin, quickly turning the rainbow street into a rainbow river, and muting all the sounds under a whooshing roar. Bríd tightened her grip on Katja's hand, suddenly afraid she would somehow lose her in this rain, and Katja turned toward her and took her other hand too. The truck in front of them had stopped again, but loudspeakers on its bed were still blasting, and through the rain they could hear a Wolf Alice song.

"Our love is cool!" shouted Katja over the rain and leaned away from her.

Instinctively Bríd knew what she was going after, and leaned back too. They had a tight grip on each other's wrists, and they spun around and round, like the kids on playgrounds, and they sang, "Our love is cool!" again and again. For a brief moment Bríd felt pure joy, unadulterated, clean joy, an exhilaration that swelled inside of her and engulfed everything else. No fear, no anxiety, no worry over her nakedness or anything else, just fierce joy and the overwhelming feeling of being alive. Around them, behind the curtain of rain, others were singing and dancing too, shrieking of joy or surprise, dashing for cover, but all Bríd cared about was the two of them, circling each other like a twin star.

Their shoes were quickly soaked through. The rain let out a little from its first furious downpour, but it filled the street and swirled around their ankles, too massive to fit into the rain vents. Katja slowed their whirling, and when they came to a stand still, heads spinning and still laughing, she started to kick her shoes off.

"Usch, I hate wet shoes," she said as a way of explanation.

Bríd laughed and followed suit, picking up her shoes in her hand. Her cool, pillowing shorts had become a clingy, thin film sticking tightly to her hips, and to her horror she could see the dark triangle of her pubes through it. Rivulets of color smudged the white fabric. She looked at Katja, and was momentarily mesmerized by how a purple river twisted down her chest, drops forming at the tip of her nipple before falling off.

Her nipple? Her nipple! Katja's nipple stickers had come off, and to her horror Bríd realized hers had, too. Apparently, the glue wasn't very waterproof, or maybe their wild dance had been too wild. She looked down on her body, her moderate boobs which were now starting to look more like a psychedelic painting than pride flag, her nipples which were scrunched tight in the cold. And now it was cold; the rain was cold, the air temperature had dropped drastically, and she felt very acutely that she only had on a pair of shorts, and even those were wet.

Katja seemed to reach the same conclusion. She reached for their bag and flung it over her shoulder, reaching to take Bríd by the hand. They waded through the street, still walking on the rainbow, carrying their shoes. The water level was starting to diminish already. The worst of the thunder had passed, and the rain was mellowing into something less ferocious.

Bríd had a good sense of direction, but was still surprised when they turned a corner and she recognized a few buildings down the street: they were near the hotel. The wind had stopped almost completely. Rain was still coming down, and the pride flags along the street hung limply from their poles. Bríd could see a few faces in the windows, but rain obscured the features, and she couldn't tell a thing about their observers. She thought she should be appalled that someone saw her like this, almost naked, but the thought lacked immediacy. It felt like it was just something she had learned by heart but didn't really believe in.

Instead of going through to the hotel lobby, they took the stairs which were immediately inside the door. Their bare feet made slapping sounds on the tiles, and Bríd was reminded of childhood, how she'd ascended the stairs to the water slide in the swimming center she'd frequented with her cousins. Coming in from the rain the air inside felt warm and still, and she remembered how hot the day had been in the morning. There were many good things one could say about buildings in Iceland, but having a functional air conditioning was not one of them.

Bríd jolted when she felt hands on her hips. Katja was climbing the stairs behind her, and now she seemingly couldn't keep her hands off her. She let out an appreciative murmur and her hands followed the curve of Bríd's bottom. Bríd giggled and hopped a few steps faster, but Katja followed her. They came to a platform, and Bríd turned just when Katja pulled her closer and nibbled the skin just below her ear. Katja's skin was as cool as her own, but somehow the space between them heated very quickly.

Bríd loved the way Katja held her. She was being possessive in a way that made Bríd feel very wanted. Katja pulled her head back to see Bríd's eyes, and they shared a smile before kissing. It was a gentle kiss, tentative, but lust flickered into existence inside Bríd so fast it took her breath away.

They both startled when a door was shut somewhere along the corridor. They giggled and started up the final flight of stairs. Now Katja went first, and Bríd could kind of see the issue; the way Katja's shorts clung to her hips was hard to describe, but it made her want to touch all of it.

Katja dropped her shoes on the floor and rummaged in the canvas bag. She was impatient and cussed under her breath in Finnish. When she finally found the key, she flashed Bríd a victorious dimple-smile. She flung the door open and kicked her wet shoes in the room. The door had an automatic closing mechanism, and by the time it clicked, they were already in bed.

Katja dove onto her head first, with a passion that made Bríd shiver. She couldn't quite understand how anyone could want her this much, could want her this much, but it made her body respond and breath catch in her throat. In the morning, when they were getting ready and Bríd was trying on Katja's shorts, Katja had lovingly tied the drawstrings on her waist into a bow. Now she was tugging on it, frustrated with how the soggy cloth string resisted, brow furrowing. She finally managed, and flashed Bríd a dimpled smile while she tugged the wet shorts down her hips. Once Bríd's pussy was visible, Katja burrowed her nose into her mons and sighed deeply. Her hot breath made Bríd tingle all over.

Katja lifted her head once more, and gave Bríd a slow, warm look as she pulled the shorts and panties all the way off. "Are you okay?"

Bríd nodded, blushing.

"What I mean," said Katja, crawling over her, dragging her hand slowly up to cup Bríd's left breast, "is that you're sexy as hell, and I want you so bad, but we don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with."

She pinched Bríd's nipple to punctuate her words, and Bríd gasped and arched her back. Katja looked her in the eyes, intently. "Will you promise me you'll tell me if you want to stop?"

Bríd nodded again, more enthusiastically. She seemed to have lost her voice. Katja looked at her, searching for something in her eyes. Bríd returned the gaze, and when Katja still didn't move, she squirmed a little and whispered hoarsely, "I promise."

"Good," Katja said and kissed her. "Because I want you." Kisses on her neck. "I want you so much." Kisses on the top of her boob. "I need you."

She kissed Bríd's nipple, and Bríd was so anxious for the touch she felt her pussy quiver. Katja settled on her and started to kiss her body very methodically. Bríd squirmed and whimpered. She wanted to touch Katja too, and Katja was taking it too slow, the tease that she was. Bríd grabbed Katja's hair, the lovely little nubs of buns she'd braided in the morning, and urged her onward. It probably didn't take many minutes, but for Bríd that felt like an eternity.

Bríd was so wound up she came almost instantly. Katja was surprised, but leaned into it, and managed to draw it out a little. She kissed Bríd's trembling thighs, stroked her tummy, and started to gently coax another orgasm out of her. Bríd was breathless, a quivering mess of happy hormones, but she was also hungry for her turn. She wrestled her hips free of Katja's grip, rolled over on the bed to kiss her, and let her hands roam.

Katja was very vocal. Bríd loved dearly every yelp and whimper she drew out of her. She wanted to learn to play her like a violin, write a symphony for this perfect instrument that was her lover's body. She worshiped the spot where Katja's neck met her shoulder. She loved the line where the rainbow stripes on her stomach turned into the pale, smooth curve of her hip. She didn't know if the bodypaint was edible, but nothing could keep her from kissing those wonderful breasts.

Katja wasn't as quick to come as she had been, but when she did come, it was magnificent. Bríd was kneeling between her legs, carefully massaging both her g-spot and clit, and the way Katja's body moved was an award in itself. Her pink and blue hair was fanned on the pillow around her head like a halo. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes lidded, and the way the blush spread on her neck and chest, right before she tumbled over the edge, ignited a hot flame inside Bríd. She wanted Katja's orgasm to go on forever, to forever have that lovely, velvety pussy pulse around her fingers, to keep chasing the small slippery pearl of her clit with her fingertips.

And, not being able to do that forever, she took the second best option, and wanted to do that again.

Time passed. Hours, years, eons, Bríd couldn't have said. They made love, and again and again her mind returned to the idea of a symphony. They had a rhythm, rising and diminishing waves, more intense sections and mellow, gentle ones. They took turns being in charge, and at times neither of them were. They were one, happy, tangled mess of body parts, kissing and fondling. In the beginning the rain accompanied them, providing a steady staccato of drops on the window. Neither of them noticed when it stopped.

In the late afternoon they lay on the bed, sprawled out to rest, but still touching each other. Sun shone through the window, sky spreading into the horizon all baby blue and cloudless once more. Katja's stomach made a loud rumble, and they both giggled.

"Hungry, eh?" Bríd asked and stroked Katja's tummy with the back of her hand. "I hear you. I'm more thirsty, myself, but yeah."

Katja started to get up, but her abs didn't quite cooperate, and she collapsed back on the bed in breathless giggles. "Oo, I'm human pudding," she said.

"Yeah? Maybe I should eat you, then?"

"Oo, have mercy," Katja said and giggled. "We need to go eat or you'll have to call for someone to carry me out of here."

"Or better yet, carry some food up here," said Bríd. "Does this place have room service?"

They got out of bed, stiff and weak in the knees, and giggled. It was exceedingly difficult to do anything without giggling. This was a different type of joy from the fierce feeling Bríd had when they were dancing in the rain. This wasn't as overwhelming, this was lighter, sparkling inside her like bubbles in champagne.

"They do have room service," she exclaimed, picking up the list. "Happy day! How about... "

"Anything, as long as it has shitloads of energy," Katja said. "And, um... once you're at it... I think we need new sheets."

Bríd turned to look. They had kicked the covers on the floor, and almost all pillows. The bed looked vast in the afternoon sun. The sheet had been white, but now it was a smudgy collection of body part prints. A smudged point of maybe an elbow. Sweeps of backs and arms all over. A few soft, round shapes that were probably boobs, and made Bríd blush. She looked down on her body. There was little left of the rainbow stripes, she looked a little like a messed up watercolor palettes after first grade art lesson, all murky brown. Katja was similarly bleary, and the both of them now had paint all over, not only on their torsos.

"Oh," Bríd said, mortified. "I... we... they're all going to know."

"Are you ashamed?"

They exchanged a glance. Bríd shrugged. She couldn't really explain why she found it so embarrassing, and she didn't try. Katja wrapped her arms around her, hugging her from behind. Together they looked at the mess they'd made of the bed.

"It's the art of us," said Katja softly and kissed her neck. "We should get that framed."