Switched Ch. 02

"That's for your new identity papers, if I can find a source for them," he said.

"When will I... When are you coming back?"

His face turned somber. "Maybe not for awhile. I may have to use cutouts for a few supply drops. Oh yeah, here." He dragged a roll of bills out of his pocket and, peeling one off for gas money, set the rest down.

"Dude. I don't know what to say." I suppressed another wave of tears. "Thank you so much."

He raised his fist. Touched, I raised my much smaller one and we bumped. "Hang in there, buddy."

He trudged down the stairs and was making his way across the concrete when I jumped up.

He really was my best friend.

I ran down the stairs.

He'd done so much for me.

He was turning toward the sound of my footsteps when I hit him. My arms wrapped around him and his came around me in an instant. The camera swung dangerously on its strap but we hugged and the tears that flowed now made what came before look like a warm-up. They were quick, though, the tears of release.

"How does one human being have this much liquid in their body?" he asked.

I raised my fist but he readied a block in response.

I wouldn't get through his guard. I had to surprise him. That was it! Did I have the balls to do it?

I darted forward and kissed him on the cheek.

It was awesome! He actually howled in surprise. He leaned back so suddenly he had to flail his arms for balance.

I faked another kiss, making him lean farther back, then punched him in the stomach.

He tipped over onto his ass, laughing, and I kicked at him, laughing also, until he scrambled out of the garage on all fours.

Yeah, I had the balls.

*

Visit

Tawney

I tore open the box as I ran into the garage. There was just enough time to get this on...

I hesitated, listening.

"Is that music?" I called as I got the brake line out of the box, inspecting it on my way to switch on the compressor, which thwacked away noisily in the corner. If Jessica answered me now, I'd have no way of hearing it.

I crossed to the Plymouth, dragging my tool cart over, and plucked a line wrench out of it, checking its size against the new part. Fifteen millimeter, how European. I swapped out wrenches and crossed to the lift controls.

Under the noise, I could kinda hear the music. Old timey stuff, guy singing. Jessica raised her head over the rail. A big lock of her hair was all tangled up between her hands and a bobby pin stuck out from the corner of her mouth.

The compressor slammed into silence. I said, "I thought you'd be listening to that hate music again."

"It's not hate music, it's punk rock." She stuck out her tongue and made what I assumed was a punk rock face, then went back to fiddling with her hair. I threw the lever and made the Plymouth start to ascend. Just before the rising classic car could block my view of her, I saw her release her hair in frustration and start finger-combing it out.

The lift safety locks clacked into place and I threw the lever to off, then walked up to inspect the job. The old line was disconnected but held in place by a piece of tape. I pulled it down and went to my cart.

"Who is this, anyway?" I called.

"What did you say?" came the incredulous reply.

Thus began a lecture on the legendary Dean Martin and his mighty pack of celebrity rats. I was done installing the part long before Jessica was done schooling me on old people entertainment. I even had time to make a sandwich.

"Where'd the supplies come from?" I asked at the top of the stairs. Jessica was messing with her hair again. Wrestling with it, from the look of things.

"Bryan came by," she admitted.

"Oh! Speaking of boyfriends—"

"He's not my boyfriend!"

"—Vance is coming over tonight."

"Oh, sure. I'll take a long walk or something."

I wanted to talk to her while I got ready, but as soon as I started to change, she ducked into her cubby. I was heading for the shower when she came out, and she slid past me in the narrow space, dressed now, and threw a quick, "See you later," as she dashed off.

She was tough to understand, that one. Didn't fit in, sure, but she was trying. I had recently discovered that while I was at work she'd cleaned the whole garage. It took me a day to notice because she'd cleaned each tool and part and put it back where she'd found it, instead of where it was supposed to go.

I asked her why, and she said she didn't want to 'violate the sanctity of my shop. I had a whole map of where I'd put my tools in my head, she explained, and if she moved them around, she figured it would irritate more than please me.

She wasn't a half-bad roommate.

*

I was ready when Vance came in. Not dressed, if course. It wasn't that kind of a visit. I rose and stood at the top of the stairs and he practically tripped over his tongue running up them. His hands went straight to my bottom and his mouth met mine for a long, passionate kiss. As he kneaded and squeezed my butt, I felt the blood rushing to my lower regions and pressed myself against his body, tugging at the hem of his shirt.

"There's one thing we need to do first, Stud," I purred seductively.

"Anything," he panted.

"Good, we've got to bleed this brake line."

Messing with him was so much fun. I did have to bleed the line, though. It felt naughty to be doing it in the nude.

It only took a minute, then Vance picked me up and carried me to the bed. He laid me down, then kissed his way down my neck to my tits. As he put his mouth on them, I threw my head back and moaned. After a while of his rough tongue against my nipples the discomfort was starting to build up against the pleasure so I pulled his head away and kissed him again. He backed up for a moment to whip off his shirt, and I let my hands explore his chest while his hands explored mine. His chest was the best. He would work out constantly in front of a mirror, and even though he neglected his legs, he had produced a beefy, fuzzy chest that any girl could enjoy.

I traced his pecs and his arms before sliding my hands over his stomach, then further, feeling his hardening cock through his pants. I moaned my appreciation. It wasn't the biggest I'd had, but it was quite nice, and guys like to be appreciated.

He was moving so that my nipples dragged across his chest. He loved doing that, but I had other plans.

"Take it out," I whispered, and he raised up, grinning, unbuckling his belt and whipping down his fly. No sooner had he hauled his manhood out than I wrapped my hand around it, stroking as I kissed him again.

With a wicked smile I pushed on his chest with my free hand, and he leaned back to sit on his heels, his pants stretched right across his thighs.

I licked my lips as I got my legs under me and crawled to him.

"Oh, shit," he breathed. I didn't do this often.

I opened my mouth and crawled forward, and his dick went inside. It didn't seem so big and unmanageable as it had in the past. If anything, it fit smoothly into my mouth, hotter than an exhaust manifold. I was making a lot of saliva tonight and there was no choice but to let it get everywhere.

I found out early on my sexual life that I have a small mouth. Not that I couldn't talk your ear off, there just wasn't a lot of room in there for a penis. I didn't even have room to lick him while I sucked him, but my momma didn't raise no quitter. I simply alternated. I'd give him a long, show suck or a few fast ones, then take him out and spin my tongue around his cock head before repeating the process. The tongue part was a great time to take a quick breath, but if I got excited and went too fast, I'd still be inhaling when I went down, and it would make the world's sluttiest sound, a schlork as the incoming air moved saliva aside to enter my mouth. This noise was very popular with the boys because they never heard it outside of pornos. I gave pornstar head.

Not bad for a Methodist girl with a small mouth.

He was showing the signs so I looked up to check on him, felt his balls like I would a CV boot that I suspected of leaks. Damn, he was close.

I gave him my sexiest look, writhing and massaging my breasts. I managed two words: "Do you..." and then his hands were on me, his mouth. He picked me up by the hips and growled as he sawed his shaft across my well-lubricated slit, then got one strong hand beneath me, between my shoulder blades, and lifted my upper body to vertical.

He leered, moving me so my nips rubbed against his chest, and tilted his hips to the right angle to line his dick up.

"Do you like the way I sucked your big, fat dick?" I asked, and in response, he dropped me onto it, penetrating me in one stroke and making me call out for my Lord and savior. I gasped and clutched at him, and was just starting to sink my nails into his shoulders when he lifted me and dropped me back down again.

My whole face and all the way down to my chest, felt like a heat lamp. "Fuck me! Yes!" I cried as he did it again and again, working himself all the way into me step by delirious step.

He was in that state he got to, sometimes, where he had stopped being a person and a family member and a machinist and a boyfriend and was solely a fucking machine, and nothing short of his orgasm would stop him.

That was the bit I really liked about him.

His arms were like iron, his face like stone. With every stroke, his pelvis ground against my clit. Sweat sheened his body.

I was building to what promised to be a hell of a climax when he shouted and slammed me hard and fast, and I felt him gushing inside me. I squeezed and shook my body up and down, trying to get enough friction to finish, but it was no use.

He slowed to a stop inside me, still standing. "God damn, woman, what did you do to me?" he demanded. I could tell he was half-kidding.

I leaned forward and bit his shoulder as I shifted my weight to one hand hooked behind his neck and my legs wrapped around him. Now freed, my other hand dove between our bodies to find my clit.

I circled it madly while rocking his meat back and forth inside me, an act that required very sexy body undulations. To keep him hard, I talked dirty.

"You fucking stud, use that pussy, use it..." I hit a particularly good spot. "Use my pussy like a sex toy," I whispered in his ear, followed by a moan. I rocked faster. "You big-dicked bastard!" I'd heard that on a rap album. I twirled my clit faster. "Make me come on your dick, you fucking animal." What had gotten into me? I seldom talked like that.

But I was on a roll. "Come on, give it to me. Gimme that cock." It was softening. I had to act fast! I moaned and writhed on him, then fixed him with my gaze and said, "Show me what a man you are."

"I'll show you a fuckin' man!" he growled. I laughed as he tackled us onto the bed.

"Suck my titties," I ordered, and he wasted no time. He wasn't skilled but damn, he was hungry for them, and that counted for a lot.

Before my nipples got sore, I rolled him onto his side. "Rawr!" I bit his nipple and he hollered in more surprise than pain. I lashed him with my tongue all the way down to the region that reeked of pussy. His cock was pretty soft and without missing a beat, I had it all in my mouth.

The flavor and smell hit me, and I went wild. I ravaged his dick with my mouth and my hand. When I bobbed on him, all the spit and cum in my mouth went, 'schlork schlork schlork,' and he yelled with pleasure and a small amount of real fear. That only turned me on further.

He was hard again, but I didn't want to stop. I lunged forward and jammed him into my throat again and again before going back to 'schlork schlork' that got faster. I was screaming and the sound kept going on and off as I bobbed, which would have been funny if I didn't sound like some kinda hellspawn.

I sat up and pivoted, angling his dick toward my happy place, and melted down his shaft.

"I'm gonna make you cum, motherfucker!" I shouted, took hold of my tits, and started bouncing.

I slammed my hips down on him, not caring how sore I'd be later. My thighs burned, sweat dripped from the end of my nose, but I dragged an orgasm out of him that set me off like an air raid siren.

He was spent. I was about to blow him again but he was all, "No, please!" I was disappointed but also proud. I'd fucked guess brains out. He left soon after that with a touch of fear in his eyes.

"You got done early," observed Jessica when she got home.

"Yeah," I replied, with an apologetic look for not being more forthcoming with her. I'd been fretting about the encounter since he left and right now I just I needed to take my mind off it. "How was your walk?" I asked her.

"Kinda nice? How was your...?"

"Good. Well..." Despite myself, I launched into a blow-by-blow of the experience, finishing with, "So I think I... scared him or something."

I turned to look at her and tried not to react when I noticed how flustered she'd gotten. Something gave me the sense that this wasn't the time to tease her, and I needed someone else's take on this. "Do you think I came on too strong? Do guys not like a woman who's aggressive in bed?"

Jessica held my eyes for a moment while she figured out her words. "I don't have a lot of experience..." she waved toward the bed upon which the deeds had recently been done. "But I do know guys. I'm, like, in their heads, okay? Everyone always thought so."

If that was true, and she didn't have much experience, what did it mean? It wasn't a church thing, was it? Couldn't be, the girl cussed more than a lot of guys I knew.

Maybe it was one of those new churches. Maybe her family was all Church of Christ with those bobwire crosses and holy armories, or those Human Fundamentalists who thought God wanted them to kill all the supers. They didn't mind the occasional f-bomb.

Hmm, that did fit the facts. What if! But I was getting distracted.

She'd taken my pause for disbelief, so she set a hand over mine and looked me in the eye. "Most guys think they want an aggressive woman, but they encounter them so infrequently that when it happens, it can put them off their game. They expect to play a certain role, you know. Having the woman playing it instead is unsettling for guys with a rigid idea of what manhood is.

"Then you've got guys who've let religion tell then that women have to be meek and weak and obedient. They aren't worth associating with, much less dating, so never mind them."

Interesting. Maybe there was something to this cult theory, after all. And I did agree with what she said about guys.

"Uh, sorry," said Jessica. "Is he...?"

I laughed, "Oh, no, I don't hang out with him, I just fuck him. It's not like he's my boyfriend-boyfriend. I call him that sometimes because people give you the same look when you say 'friend with benefits' as when you say, 'caramel macchiato.'"

"Oh, cool. Very liberated of you."

"I may be a country girl," I said with a naughty smile, "but I ain't simple!" Damn right. I had just done... What I had just done. Right over there, in fact.

*

Braid

Tawney

Ugh, get your mind off it, girl! "So what's up with you?" I asked.

She shrugged. "Still on the run, still trying to learn how to..." She put her hands under her breasts and lifted them, rolling her eyes, "Be a proper lady."

"Is that why you were messing with your hair earlier?"

"Yeah, I was trying to learn how to braid."

"Really? I learned how to braid when I was six."

She gave me a good-humored smile. "I told you I'm no good at this."

I reached forward and took a lock of her hair, running it through my fingers. "I could teach you," I suggested. "C'mon."

We sat on the floor. I clicked on the speaker and a sweet, slow ballad floated out, crooned by Ella Fitzgerald. "This you?"

She shrugged and looked a little embarrassed. "I like this kind of stuff sometimes."

I pulled a handful of hair over her shoulder. "This would be good music to bang to," I remarked. Dammit, I was incorrigible!

She lowered her eyes, watching my hands closely. It was as if she hasn't heard me.

I showed her how to split her hair into plaits and weave them. She wanted to jump right in, trying to braid her hair on the other side, but she was hopeless.

I put my hand over hers. "Slow down." She nodded and let me comb out her clumsy attempts. "It's easier to do someone else."

I reached up and started to undo my braids.

"No! Your hair!" she protested.

"It's okay. It has to be redone regularly or it gets all frizzy."

I used a brush, bristles and pointy handle to work my hair smooth. "I usually wash and condition it at this point." I hopped into the shower to do just that.

Jessica acted like she'd never been around a woman before. And she'd told me she understood guys really well. Had she been raised around any women at all? What a lonely life.

Once I'd dried off, I wrapped up in the towel and went over to where she played with her hair. "Jessica?"

"Yes?"

"This is going to take us a while, and it's kind of my own special thing, you know? And I've got certain ways I'm accustomed to doing it. For instance..." I trailed off. This was hard to say!

She was getting alarmed. Her ears were actually turning pink.

I reached into the hiding spot and pulled out the item and held it up.

She brightened up. "Oh! You mean smoke a joint!"

Relief flooded us both. I sat down next to her and lit it, and we passed back and forth. I tottered over to hang the towel I was wearing on the rack and was reaching for my robe when I noticed her.

Jessica was looking at me like I'd look at a brand-new Holly four-barrel carburetor.

I found I didn't really mind. I felt so worldly compared to her, like it was my duty to open her up and teach her the way of things. This was part of it. "It's just us girls here, Honey. It's no big deal."

I had one hand on the hanging robe and the other still stretched out toward where I'd put the towel. I was totally uncovered and on display, but high enough that it didn't seem like a big deal.

She broke her gaze away from me after a moment and swallowed hard. "This is taking a lot of getting used to," she said.

"You spent most of your life around guys, am I right?" She nodded. "Women aren't scared of each other's bodies the way they are."

This was going on suspiciously long, so I put on the robe as casually as I could.

"You're so pretty," she said. "You're comfortable being you, you know?"

"The thing I ask myself is: Why wouldn't I be?"

Jessica laughed.

I waved a hand, dismissing her. "You're overdressed for Hair Time. At least take off that dang hoodie. Get some PJs on or something."

She bowed and scampered away. I was welcoming her into the sisterhood. It was important that I make her feel comfortable.

She returned in a long, soft shirt and shorts, and we got started.

I had a mirror on a flexible stand, and between that and the big one on the wall, I could work on her head and she could see what I was doing. She wanted a Dutch braid like I usually wore, which was ambitious but doable. I explained the basic technique as I worked up one side of her head.

She eyed herself in the mirror intently, then gave a short nod. I started on the other side.

We talked about cars, mostly, and I told her about my life. We didn't talk much about hers. Every time it came up, she made a joke and asked me about myself. I didn't push it.

She was funny, and so thoughtful. Had to be, just sitting around here day after day with nobody to talk to. When the mail came in she organized it. She'd found my how-to book and made origami cranes out of junk mail and hung them all over the place using fishing line. She sorted my clothes by type and size, and my contribution to Laundry Wednesdays was just telling her what could be washed on what setting while she did everything else. She even started fixing up my old dirt bike.