Spirits in the Material World

Settle in, my sweet lebbis and gents, for we are charting some new territory. This is a heart-wrencher, and a period piece. New story, new characters, old era. I'm taking you way back to my early, early years for this one. Not that I'm ancient, mind you whippersnappers. If you were around to enjoy the mid-1980s, welcome back. If not, take my word for it: the global situation was far from perfect, but the pop culture, dudes and dudettes, was, like, totally bitchin' tubular. (That's early/mid-'80s for "rad(ical)," which is mid-/late '80s for "great" or "cool.") Okay, that's subjective. We could also use "awesome," but that word's been just as popular and ubiquitous ever since. Like "dude." (Although "dude"'s female counterpart crashed and burned before those four non-aging, adolescent, mutated, crime-fighting, pizza-loving Manhattan reptiles stopped saying it.) Besides its unique aspect, this is a love letter from me to this quirky little epoch. I'm inclined to say—though I shan't...if you don't like this story, you're wrong. Enjoy. And no spoilers, but it might not hurt to have a tissue nearby.

P.S. I'm keeping my Lit handle for the Readers' benefit, but am now going by the nickname Sapphire Smokey. You can find me with another presence for my writing under that moniker.

*****

Girlfriend Is Better

Saturday, January 5th, 1985, 11:12 a.m.

It was so frigidly cold in the suburban heart of Juniper, Minnesota, the temperature was barely double-digits F. Three hundred miles and one national border north, it was 12° below zero C. The cloudless, sunny sky was all that kept Juniperites (and Ontarians) from being buried in lovely white crystals. Many outdoor creatures—and indoor humans—lay in cozy hibernation. One of those humans relaxed wrapped in a blanket on her comfy sofa at 908 Silent Shadow Court, in Harper County.

30-year-old Trish Lowery was on the couch, under the covers, her stuffed rabbit Trixie in one arm, Zenith remote in the other paw. She lay snug in her p.j.s, a large neon velvet bow atop her head. After a long week at the office—excepting Tuesday, the calendar-recycling holiday—she'd earned some quality R&R time to veg with the tube. She indulged her adult side with shows which were filmed, and her kid side with ones that were drawn. She looked forward to another wonderful weekend with her girlfriend Sonya Ross, who'd be home from the market any minute. They'd been together seven years, staying at Trish's almost the whole of the time.

Sonya, 28 going on 29, performed errands like groceries and such in the wintertime, preferring cold over warm. And Trish, who preferred the opposite...made sure the car's AC was in top shape in the summer...when Sonya also did said errands. Both worked, and while Sonya didn't really mind taking care of these things, and knew her girlfriend's job could be taxing...she got tired as well, and was less up to them some times than others. She tried not to let on, though, as she liked the feeling of Trish needing her around. Her job was important, but on her off hours, Sonya frankly liked feeling domestic. Trish could be a little...okay, a lot tidier for her, but Sonya tried not to let this get to her either. They loved each other so very much, emotionally, and passionately. Tuesday at midnight, they'd shared both their most sensual New Year's kiss and New Year's bop to date.

Trish put the remote on the coffee table. Her 2-year-old Maine Coon daughter Fluffernutter hopped up and strode across. She stepped on a button, changing the channel.

"Tab's got Sass! Ooh, you're gonna love it! The sassy crisp taste—" Bzzt! "—Sun-Maid Raisins. I wouldn't dream of using anything—"

Fluff then turned attention to her Mommy, sniffing and rotating her ears.

"Hey! Ca-at!..." Trish playfully scolded, picking up the ragamuffin. "Why're you such a cat?"

"Mrrrrow."

"Oh, is that so?" Trish countered. "Yes, well, Mommy's watching TV right now. I'm sorry, but you may not watch Heathcliff. The cats may be great and superior, but they won't always get their way. Ha ha ha."

"...talking part of this complete breakfast!" "Snap"-"Crackle"-"Pop!" "Rice Krispies!"

The station Fluffernutter'd just selected wrapped up its break. Mel Blanc's voice greeted them with a returning bumper.

"Hee-hee-hee! Now back to Heathcliff!"

An incredulous Trish whipped her face to the screen, as her feline companion began kneading her under the boobs.

"...Oh! Oh, rubbing it in, are we?" the amazed human asked the purring cat, scratching her ears and under the chin. Fluff slowed up her kneading, shutting her eyes tight with intensified purrs. She cocked her little head, leaning into the petting—until both heard approaching footsteps. Fluffernutter promptly jumped off, using Trish's tummy as a launchpad to meet her second Mommy at the door. Outside, Sonya shifted grocery bags to one arm, freeing the other to retrieve her key. Her frizzy, teased-up hair was even more flipped and tossed by the windy gusts. And she'd have to make sure she still had her Ms. Pac-Man earrings on. As per usual, Fluff waited for her to get both feet inside, and immediately began figure-eighting her legs.

"Mrrrrow. Mrrrrow. Mrrrrow. Mrrrrow. Mrrrrow. Mrrrrrow."

"Mmph! Hi, cat. A'right, scoot," Sonya replied, hefting the bags. Trish snapped her fingers to reclaim Fluff's attention—"Kitty! Yo. C'mere"—as her partner assumed the kitchen. Kitty about-faced back onto Trish's welcoming warm belly. Some groceries were to be cupboarded, others converted into lunch. Sonya put away all items not required for the repast, then crossed back to return outside for the Gazette. She slipped in, locked the door, took off her shoes and socks, and offered Trish the baggied periodical.

"Paper, sweets."

"Goody!" Trish whipped off the baggie and noisily leafed to her favorite section. "Funnies, come to Mama!

"Oh—Sonya, honey?" she called as her beloved wandered back towards the kitchen. "There's nothing I wanna watch on TV, and I'm not really in the mood to let Fluff make me watch her cartoons right now."

"Seriously?" came Sonya's voice. "Eighty channels, and you can't find anything? What the hell'd we get cable for?"

"You wanna please put my tape on, honey darling?" Trish sweetly entreated. "It's cued up."

"Oh, Trishy, can't you do that yourself?"

"Well, uh, I could...but y'know, Fluff's on my belly, and all comfy. You know how Her Royal Kittyness gets when I make her move."

A slightly exasperated Sonya retraced her footsteps, once more gracing the living room with her presence.

"Fine..." She knelt before the entertainment system, her back to Trish. She heard a giggle.

"Nice view of the bottoms of your feet, babe."

Sonya made a strangely amused face.

"It's so weird you like my feet."

"Why? You like my hands and arms."

"Yeah, 'cause hands and arms're...sensual, and powerful, and...hot."

"Well, feet can be too. Whether you just have a little thing for 'em or it's a legitimate fetish, they can almost be almost like seeing someone's privates. It gets me excited."

Sonya decided to let her have this debate's last word. She tuned the knob to the VCR input and fetched up the videocassette labeled "TRISHY'S FAVORITE STUFF," as Trish perused the Gazette's comics section.

"Awww-w-w-w!" heard Sonya from behind her. "Garfield!"

"Oh, what's that fat Heathcliff knockoff up to now," Sonya asked, polishing the query with a period instead of a question mark.

"Ah, the usual: shoving poor Odie off the table. Just 'cause he's so 'pushoffable.' And I'll have you know Heathcliff and Garfield are very unique in their own ways," Trish asserted. She affected a childish voice to consult the cat. "Isn't that right, Fluffernutter?!"

In went the tape to auto VCR play, and Sonya started yet again to the kitchen. A very familiar piano theme chimed out.

"That Kate & Allie episode again, huh?"

"Yeeeeeeessss..." answered Trish, sardonically matching Sonya's tone. "I have nothing against anything new or different, I just happen to take comfort in the stuff I already know I like a lot too. Especially if that stuff's a Kate & Allie with lesbians in it! Pride!"

"Well, I'll give ya that," Sonya called from the kitchen. "But I'll have you know those tapes won't last forever. Y'know how it started to get worn out in Fast Times, when you rewound it a zillion fast times to drool at Phoebe's 'beebees'? Even though the other chick was naked too in a different part, I might add? That's what'll happen if you keep playing the same thing over and over."

"We happen to be living in a golden age of movie boobies, darlin'. Valley Girl, Vacation...Trading Places, Risky Business...Sixteen Candles, Bachelor Party, I'm sure the list goes on. 'S a great time to be alive. I can't wait till we get to see beavers too."

Sonya couldn't disagree with that. Silence settled, as she whipped them up some soft-tortilla tacos, with sour cream and fruit on the side. Trish went on enjoying her funnies and her show, as Fluff stretched atop her and caught a few winks. Her Mommy's eyes glazed as a spell of deeper thought set in. It was true, she worked hard and behaved formal all week as a purchasing agent. And felt she was entitled to her lazy weekends lounging about. Of course, Sonya should be as well...maybe it wasn't fair to "make" Sonya do the shopping and cooking, and ask her to do little things like putting on her VHS tape too. Trish's gaze rose as she realized something.

...She's got a point. Put on my tape for me? What am I, five? Of course I can do that myself, like I said. Then again, she does know a little more about the VCR, and...no, no, Trishy, knock it off. We can't let ourselves get away with that. That's rationalizing. And lazy rationalizing at that. But even so, on the other hand...

Earlier on in their relationship, Sonya really did seem to enjoy performing these little tasks for her. She'd genuinely liked doting on Trish and making her feel special. And Trish did. She enjoyed being pampered and taken care of. And it seemed that if something made her girl happy, Sonya was all for it. But Trish would be the first to say that both partners deserved to be happy. If they weren't, something in the relationship wasn't working. Something was defective. Malfunctioning. Fucked up. She had to put in her share of effort and look out for Sonya's feelings too. However...she couldn't help but question how much Sonya valued her feelings lately. It wasn't a great way to think of her room-, play- and lifemate, but...these days, Sonya struck her in part as...a nag. A critical nag.

She loved Sonya. She loved being with Sonya. More, she loved that they were girlfriends. She loved the word. "Girlfriend." It was a wonderful thing. Trish was gay and crazy about girls—as well as their "beebees" and "beavers"—while as attached and committed as could be to Sonya Ross—and also much enjoyed having friends. She was interested and charmed by the fact that phrasing "girl" with "friend" referred to commonplace female companionship. But the simple act of removing the space and making it a compound word introduced romance. Like "galpal." They were lovers, but fundamentally also friends. As friends, they liked each other. They enjoyed hanging out and spending time. They were on the same team. And being a lesbian couple was unique. Trish relished the reciprocity. She got to have a girlfriend, and also be someone's girlfriend. And as a lesbian, she too harbored mixed feelings about her inability to get married—to Sonya or to any other woman. On one hand, she felt peeved, indignant and hurt over the fact that something she had no control over making her "different" restricted her rights, due to narrow-minded social convention. On the other...

She rather liked the way things were presently going. If she looked past the injustice of not enjoying this right, she questioned just how much she'd miss...by remaining a Miss. She'd observed interactions between wed couples. While harsh to say their relationships had lost their "magic," or gone plum complacent, it didn't seem inaccurate. Worse, they appeared to take one another for granted and fight more. She didn't know how much she'd like to be someone's wife. "Wife"...this word made her turn a bit of a face. It made it sound as if bartered for livestock or something. She was unsure how much she trusted marriage.

But getting back to Sonya...in a way, some things were good to be nagged about. Doing chores. Not being messy. Exercising. Getting some fresh air. Unless that air was ten degrees. Sonya couldn't really throw this one in her face during wintertime in Minnesota. But there were things for which Trish could shake a t'sk'ing finger her way too. Like...ummmm...

...Oh, watching her language, there's one. I don't like when she curses at me. (Well, unless it's pillow talk.) I think in expletives, but as a rule I don't say them out loud. I dunno, maybe that's just me. Part of the ladylike way I was brought up. Guess it was a little different in Sonya's house. I've met her folks, she's met mine. They are pretty different. So're she and I. But...I love her. There're so damn many things I adore about her. She's self-sufficient, self-confident, self-empowered, hot as fuckin' hell, and... and...

And, she...takes care of me. Oh god, I am dependent on her. I do need her that way. She's right, I oughta be more responsible. After all, when I moved in here, she was practically right there with me from day one. I probably couldn't live here on my own. Maybe my parents spoiled me. Maybe that's why I'm not...no, Trish, stop. We're doing it again. We can't blame Mom and Dad 'cause we're not as "grown up" as Sonya. She did kinda volunteer to start fixing the place up and making it nice when I/we moved in. I told her I wanted her to make the place feel like her own too, and I meant it, and I still do. And I let her. With good reason. She's so great at that kinda thing. Look at this place; it's gorgeous! Why am I so capable and professional at work but not at home?...Well, I guess I already answered that question: 'cause Sonya takes care of me.

She laid the newspaper aside and stroked Fluff's head. The cat "prrrrow"ed in her sleep, shifted to the side and spread out the kitty digits of all four paws. Trish's expression softened, watching her middle serenely rise and fall.

"You're so lucky you're a cat, cat," she soundlessly mouthed. "You make us treat you like the royal little thing you are, and you get away with it 'cause you're so golly-gosh-darn cute. And 'cause now I can't imagine life without her or you."

Trish took a moment to shut her eyes and let them dart beneath their lids. Susan Saint James and Jane Curtin went on being their wacky titular Moms, in their semi-lesbian-themed "Landlady" ep. Sonya, now in cozy domestic mode, plate in each hand, returned in her apron—and barefoot, which she knew Trish liked. She accidentally stepped on one of Trish's fluorescent banana clips that had found its way into the carpet, and gave a small wince. But she forced herself to maintain composure, and fortunately didn't drop the food. This was, after all, precisely why she'd gotten used to walking slow and careful around the house.

"Lunch is—*ahem!*—served," she announced, handing Trish her plate and utensils. She set her own down, picked up and passed Trish her hair clip as well, and ambled back for their drinks. Trish detected just a bit of a limp in her stride. Realizing Sonya must've found the hair clip with her soft sensitive sole, Trish apologized.

"Oh gosh, honey, I'm sorry."

Sonya returned, sans apron, and set down their glasses.

"It's a'right, sweetie pie. You can massage the ol' tootsies later. I know you love that."

Taking her own seat in the nice big recliner they called the La-Z-Girl, Sonya got comfortable as they began eating, letting Trish's tape play on. Fluffernutter smelled the grub and awoke, giving obligatory sniffs. She could have a small shred of cheese, so Trish granted her the morsel and sent her on her way. After the Kate & Allie episode in October, the last and most recent thing they'd taped was The Never-Ending Story. Mid-bite, Trish grinned, dancing back and forth in the sofa while the music played.

"God, this movie's so awesome," Trishy gushed. "I don't think I'll ever get tired of it."

Sonya smirked, closing her eyes so Trish couldn't see her impishly rolling them.

"You've only made me watch it with ya like five fuckin' times so far, sweetie," she teased. "Give it another few years and a couple hundred viewings. Then you'll have it memorized and you can just recite it to me."

"You're cruisin' for a ticklin', darlin'," Trish "warned" her. "Want me to 'massage' those feet, be careful how much ya taunt me."

"Little cute and goofy you like tickling me too...but then, where'd we be without whimsy."

"Nothin' says lovin' like a poke at your giggle spots, cookie bear. Hoo-hoo!"

They took their time dining, stretching the meal to accommodate the film. Once done, Sonya returned their plates and glasses, gave them a rinse, placed them in the dishwasher and returned, as the Story indeed Ended. She pressed stop.

"Hey," said Trish. "Babe, I wanna see the credits. You know that's as much of the movie for me as any other part."

Sonya turned back her way with a purposely sexier smirk.

"Wanna bop?"

Trishy popped her eyes open, raising her brows. She flung the blanket off herself and got up.

"Who needs credits, they all know what they did. Let's go bop our daylights out."

*****

She Bop (Girls Just Want To Have...)

Saturday, January 5th, 1985, 1:30 p.m.

And so it was to the bedroom with them, where Sonya led Trish by the hand. She shut the door, maneuvered about a few of Trishy's floor-strewn belongings, let their paws unclasp, and herself roll out into the mattress. The bed and corresponding room belonged only to Trish upon acquisition of the house. When Sonya began staying with her in the late '70s, she dozed on the generous sofa, under the nice heavy blanket. And when the time was mutually decided right, they began sleeping together—in each sense.

Once comfy, cozy and on her back, Sonya reached out for Trish's tender embrace, offering her own. Trish took her time, drawing out each magic moment of foreplay. Reaching the bed herself, she mounted, scaled, and ascended.

Her all fours left the ground, crawling onto the cloud. She slithered forth, inching around Sonya's still jeans-clad gams. Their brows cocked. Their eyes locked. Sonya smirked, winked, and threw Trish an air kiss with just her lips. Trish tingled, narrowed her eyes to smoky slits, scrunched her nose and bared her teeth. "Rawr," she sensually growled. Sonya tossed her a similar expression, manipulating her cheekbones and jaws into a biting motion. Trish moved in on her, one limb at a time...slow and silent, like a panther, making Sonya wait. Her top hung low, letting more cleavage peek out.

As Trish slunk around Sonya's middle, the latter sprawled herself and held out her arms, for erotic snuggles and caresses. But to her surprise, Trish took initiative, control, and their romp in a different direction. She teetered up onto her knees, clutched Sonya by the wrists, and shoved her arms back down into the mattress, thrusting herself atop.