The Libertine Bubble Pt. 01

5

Has it gotten a little hot in here or is it just me?

It's late now, very, very late and the wind blowing the cooler weather from the north sounds like lovers whispering, professing their love between their sighes and moans. Charlotte couldn't sleep for a while after she'd put Sean to bed, laid down on the floor beside him, and tried to monitor his breathing as a means of distracting me. But, it wasn't just me, she was trying to distract. It was herself Char had to disuade from the indulgences of the persistant thoughts and images undulating inside her head like so many concupiscent wraiths, their disembodiments integrating as the ether of each other crossed, causing their incorporiality to fuse, gel and solidify into a beautiful, beautiful vibrantly sensual state of mind.

Finally though, Char has fallen asleep, asleep enough at the least to allow me the time to continue my contribution to this record. It is a dirty little secret. It is a dirty little secret and it is the heralding of a new, magnificent thing. No, not a thing. It is a heralding of a life.

As wakefulness, born from the millions of eager, oxytocin fueled, interneurons Brimming to fire, plagued my sweet Charlotte, her first pervasive deliberation was: Are gay women self conscious about their bodies in equal measure when in the company of other gay or straight women?

Char found herself remembering summer camp, the changing room, wondering over how it had been so easy for all the girls, except for some of the fat girls and herself, to just take everything off and walk around, chatting away like a bunch of old naked friends. Then Charlotte recalled this new term people have been throwing around, sexual fluidity. I like it myself. I think it's great and that it rhymes with, sensual lucidity.

Charlotte was awake and alert with anxiousness. She wasn't disturbingly panicked, but restlessly apprehensive. Nothing settled her; not knowing Sean was safe and sound, not the sound of the wind, not the knowledge that she was breathing in the best possible oxygen that could be generated within a closed space, not the ascetic safety of her very clean pink flannel pajamas or not the hope that she actually made an honest to goodness real friend.

Toby was the oxytocin. Charlotte hadn't felt good about the idea of a new friend, a real human being friend, not for a very long time. It had been a prospect she'd feared. But, she would feel maybe a little better about a friendship growing with Toby if she hadn't seen the woman's totality so instantly and profoundly; having watched her perform her music so intimately or had seen her big hard nipples and really hot ass three times and felt her sexuality suddenly, confoundingly become more than a little, fluid. Char's introduction to Toby was way too intense to experience all at once, because the result was, in spite of Char's trying to deny it or reject it, attraction.

Had Charlotte been inclined toward bisexuality? I'd have to say no. It was men that had aroused Char's enthusiasm as much as men and sex with men, unfortunately, were the reasons why her extreme vasocongestion became something to be depressed about, which led to her OCD, which then led to Char's haphophobia, and then ultimately to her identity disorder.

But, that's the thing, identity. Sexuality is an element of a person that informs his or her identity, which is why Molly and I believe that Char is capable of becoming homosexual or at least bisexual. I'm certainly capable of it and I'd show her the way to the depths of the other team's locker room if she'd give me the chance. If only she wasn't so fucking obsessively compulsive and haphophobic, we'd find out. I mean, it's not as if being a member of the heterosexual persuasion requires a yearly doctor's visit to determine that there is, without a doubt, absolute no evidence of sexual fluidity, and it's not like being hetero has paid off either.

Toby hadn't asked about Sean's dad. If she had, Charlotte would have told her the standard story, the answer she always has ready: Well, Scott, his name was Scott, handed me a bunch of cash, told me he signed up for the military, got back into his car and drove away. I've never seen him since and no, he's never seen Sean, but they look alike, they look a lot alike, actually.

It was Mystery Man that furnished Charlotte with the story. She won't say so, but I could tell. I know he only casts shadows against the rest of us in here, but, he's still here, like the rest of us, trying to protect Charlotte or, I don't know, protecting something. Anyway, the story serves well, for most people, most doctors, for the reason why she's so haphophobic. Others just assume that Char's fear of physical contact and her OCD is the result of Sean and his presence in her life. This upsets Char and reinforces her fear of contact. Strangers are one thing. But, the prospect of even breathing the same air as, let alone shaking hands with, total assholes pushes Char up to a whole other level of disgust, contempt and increased withdrawl.

The fact remains however, Char actually gave her hand to Toby to shake. Yes, well, she didn't have much of a choice. Toby was, is, enigmatic. That's the best word for her, enigmatic. There are other words and there could be many more words if, Charlotte took a sensible approach to creating a relationship with the woman or at least, you know, letting us find out what she looks like totally naked and, well, how good she tastes.

Toby is certainly friendly and very comfortable with her body, to the point of absent minded exhibition, but is she gay? Is she sexually fluid. Inquiring minds want to know. I sure as hell want to know and I have been spending all night working on Charlotte to convince her to find out. The words fluid and fluidity raise twinges of anger and resentment in Char's little tummy. These words don't bother me. I love them. They make me live. But, it certainly raises a fair question.

What should Charlotte do, in the short term, with this new information and with these fresh images slinking around in her head? Hell, I've been writing this all down for her after all, and it hasn't been as juicy as I like it. Which, is why, at around midnight, when I knew she was ripe for the suggestion, I gave Charlotte the follwing little pep talk.

"10. You know Char honey, Sean is as safe as safe can be.

9. Noone but us can read your mind and noone can see you but us.

8. You are a very attractive young woman who deserves an orgasm and, since tomorrow is Saturday, you will have twenty-four hours to avoid any bad juju from you having aroused yourself through fantasy and touch.

7. Oh and by the way, we all think it's perfectly okay for you to have a crush on Toby. "

"6. We like Toby Lynn. Don't we like her ladies? Yeses all around Char. No no honey. Pay no attention to the alter clad in shadow. If he doesn't want to play, he doesn't have to. He doesn't even talk to you on a civil basis. His opinion means absolutely nothing. Are you with me Char? Okay. Stay with me.

5. So, why not just go ahead and quietly slip out of Sean's room?"

"4. Why don't you quietly slip out of those silly little pajamas of yours

3. And, why don't you just let me take over for a while.

2. Do you remember what a surprise it was to see Toby's scrumptious little ass. I sure do.

1. Yes, remember that sweet, sweet ass, her round breasts and her long legs? She is beautiful, yes, very beautiful; her body, her green eyes, her virtuosity, her spirit.

0. That's it. Relax. Just relax and let me take control."

6

Blast off...

Charlotte and I have merged. That makes me Charlotte and Charlotte is feeling fine, very loose, very uninhibited. I gently pick up the video monitor from beside my head, and then carefully crawl from the room. I push my bedroom door open, switch on the light and set the video monitor on the bureau.

I turn to my left and there I am. Along the wall opposite my bed, are a set of two sliding closet doors, surfaced with two floor to ceiling mirrors. I am dressed in my silly pink pajamas and I watch as I start to unfasten its top's top button and I study my reflection, whispering to her how beautiful she is and how much I want to touch and kiss her skin. This, is how I get there, to that place, riding the euphoria of surrender, the revealing to myself the smoothness of my naked skin and the slick and juicy friction to orgasmic fruition I crave to elicit from it.

I open my top, drag it from me, and then toss it aside. I watch myself sniff, kiss and tongue my creamy white shoulders. Next, I slowly push down the waistband of my baggy flannel bottoms, slipping and tugging until I can look myself in the eye as I can see my blue satin panties come into view. For a moment, I admire Dirty Little Slut, the name I gave my naked reflection.

As I push my pajama bottoms down my hips and thighs, my eyes rove from the gentle fullness of my slightly conical C cup breasts, to the slight crescent moon shadows cast under my ribs, to my very flat belly, its diminutive button and to the semmetrical almond of my mons bulging slightly beneath its blue satin mask. I love her. I do, and so I approach her. I press my breasts against hers and we share a smile. I am not ashamed to say, that I kiss her. After one long wet open eyed and opened mouthed kiss, I step back, pull off my pink clown pants, and then use it to wipe the humid from our face.

I stare intently as I begin to fondel and squeeze my breasts, pinche my pencil eraser thick rose pink nipples, and then squeeze both tits to my outstretched tongue for a good lapping fest. As they began to shine with the slick of my mouth, I felt the moist warmth inside me begin to seep its way out. I stepped back, let go of my breasts, and then quickly slipped out of my soiled panties. I scrutinized my just a tad overgrown mound of dark brown hair before reaching down to pick up my panties.

My reflection looked on hungrily as I brought the saturated crotch to my nose and mouth for the sake of drawing in a deep, deep breath and to taste a relishing tongue full. My pussy was dripping with excitement. My inner thighs were glistening. Falling to my knees, I tossed the wet panties aside, and then parted the curtain of my lips with my left hand, and then plunged the longest fingers of my right deep inside myself. The flood gate, was opened. With any luck, I would drown.

Once, twice, then three times I withdrew my soaked fingers and spread my juices all over my thighs, all over my pussy hair and up my tummy. Then, eyeing the gleam of my long hard clitoris, I started to drive my long fingers, spinning laps around and against the stiff red morsel. I returned my gaze to the Dirty Little Slut's as I worked toward my first climax of the evening, rushing, spinning, breaths quickening, breaking only to drive my fingers inside again, withdrawing more of my love's blood so that I could paint the words "I love you" across my Dirty Little Slut's reflected chest.

Gradually, I rose my hips as the orgasm neared its crest. Then, as it always did, my girl come spewed a thick stream across the mirror, underlining the words I'd written there. Then the sloshing gush turned into a flooding torrent and saturated the section of rug beneath me. No, I didn't have a problem with that, not at all. I loved our EV, our Extreme vasocongestion. On the other hand, Charlotte didn't.

But, what we could agree on was the crashing rapturous wave that held me tight in its inescapable grip, leaving me so electricly ecstatic, that I could no longer remain on my knees, let alone keep my eyes transfixed on those in the mirror. And so, I fell back, trying not to make too much of a splash, shuddering, whimpering and shivering with the aftershock of having come so exquisitely. But, it's been way too long. That wasn't good enough for me. Eyes still closed, I sighed a quaking yet cleansing breth, then another and another. Finally, I opened my eyes, focused and saw that my Dirty Little Slut was crying tears of joy and relief. As she was gesturing for me to come closer.

I knew what she wanted. She wanted me to open the closet, rummage through the boxes I had way on top, so that I could find her the eight inch purple vibrating dildo with the suction cup base. This, is what I did. I found it, felt the lube tube in the box too, but left it there. It was there for, emergencies. Charlotte needs no lube. I slid the closet door closed again, poised my self before my Dirty Little slut, spread my feet, and then observed as I very easily pushed the object deep inside myself. I had to hold it there of course, because I was much too, too wet. A few seconds later, I with drew it, lowered myself into a little horse stance, and then carefully drove the purple silicone life like dick into my ass hole until the slope of the suction cup was against my cheeks. Slowly then, I stood up and I knew that cock was going nowhere.

7

Oh, it gets better.

Toby is at her open door. She smiles at me and says:

"Hey, what's up? Where's, Sean?"

"Oh he's fine. Just napping. See? I have his video monitor right here. I'll just set it, way over there and turn the volume up, just a little."

Toby is back at her amplifier and she's adjusting a few knobs. I close the door behind me and I say:

"Can I ask you something?"

Still in her Nirvana t-shirt, still in her black guitar, She glances my way and gives me a small shrug. I'm dressed in just a pair of canary yellow bike shorts and my favorite sweater, the black one that accentuates my breasts and has such a low neck line that I can let one of my shoulders show.

"Shoot." She says.

"You've got just a t-shirt on now. Which is perfectly fine because you're home, relaxing. But, do you ever play, you know, naked?"

Toby's full attention is on me now. She is smiling a little and she is flushed, a little and she says:

"Sometimes, very late at night, like, if I can't sleep."

"Oh." I say, "That's interesting."

Toby starts to play something quietly. I step closer to her.

"I wonder," I say, "Can you turn around and, bend over the way you did earlier today?"

"Uh, sure."

"Thanks."

Toby does as I asked and my gaze goes from her sweet ass to her face looking back at me, and then back again.

"You know how nice it is, don't you?" I ask.

"I do." She answers, "Uh, do you, like it?"

"I'd say you have a very nice ass, yes."

"Thanks," Toby answers, and then clears her throat to ask: "Can I stand up straight again?"

I stare, just a little bit longer, salivating a little, and then I say:

Sure."

Toby stands and resumes her playing. I stroll around the empty room and watch her. She's watching me. She's watching me study her, appraising her body, assessing the features that are visible and I'm contemplating the ones that aren't. Presently, I notice her stepping out of her flops, and then gently pushing them aside. I look over her beautiful, slender feet and I get an idea.

"Hey Toby?"

"Yeah?"

"Sorry, to interrupt." I say as I draw near to her,"But, you look like you could use a good foot washing. Would you like me, to do that for you?"

Toby just stares at me, then she looks away and her face says she is going to say no and that I'm really freaking weird for asking. Then she looks back at me and says:

"That sounds good, actually. Okay."

I want to smile then, but I don't. I feel suddenly way too hot inside to smile. Toby smiles, but I just don't and I go back to where I set down my video Monitor. Seeing that Sean is still okay, I pick the monitor up, and then head toward the door. I open it, look behind me and I see Toby following me, with her guitar still on. I think this is cute, but I still can't smile. It's still too hot inside me.

In my place, Toby closes the door behind us. I set the monitor on the kitchen table, and then I pull out one of the chairs and I set it in the middle of the kitchen floor. Toby takes a seat there and starts playing her guitar again while I go about getting the things I need. Three minutes later, I have all the stuff I'm going to need. I set them down on the floor beside Toby's right foot, and then I get on my knees in front of her. I squeeze some soap and pour bath salt into the tub of water, and then slide it between Toby's pretty feet and my smooth white knees.

As I lift her right foot and set it in the warm water, she starts to sing a song about trying really hard to do something right, but failing. I realize that she is singing about trying and failing to love and it seems very sad, but it's so pretty, so, so pretty. But then, as I gently scrub the remnant filth and grime from her foot, the guitar and Toby's words are gently rising and becoming happier and the lover who once failed is trying again, and then promises to try again if failure happens again. I lift Toby's clean right foot out of the tub and, stealing a brief glance to see if I can see any of the private place between her thighs, but not seeing anything, I set her foot down on a fresh towel.

I take Toby's left foot and I peer up at her to see that she is looking back at me and I want to smile, but my insides are just getting hotter and I become a little worried that I'm going to boil up and rise away like so much steam. I can feel moisture begin to collect on my forehead as I work on cleaning Toby's other foot. Toby, begins to play another song , something sweet and a little faster than her last song. But, when she starts to sing, the words come out slow, like a chant, a montra. I listen and I love it instantly as I'm loving the sight of her perfect feet and the wonderful feel of them in my hands and I start to love the heat building so intensely inside me.

It's then I realize Toby's montra. She is singing, reciting a poem that doesn't rhyme. I know the poem. It's one of my favorite poems. I feel my insides shake then and I start to massage Toby's foot and I want to ask her if I can dry it off and put her beautiful toes in my mouth and I want to kiss them all over, and then kiss and lick my way up her shin and along the sides of her calf. But I don't. I wait. I know she will let me, but I wait. Instead, I keep washing and massaging her left foot. I keep listening to her montra, to exactly how she is singing it, and then, I start to sing ith with her.

"I placed a jar in Tennessee, and round it was, upon a hill. It made the slovenly wilderness Surround that hill. The wilderness rose up to it, and sprawled around, no longer wild. The jar was round upon the ground and tall and of a port in air. It took dominion everywhere. The jar was gray and bare. It did not give of bird or bush, like nothing else in Tennessee."

I gazed into her eyes as we sang together. It was the last round of the montra and when Toby stopped strumming, she just stared at me so seriously that I had to look away. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe she wouldn't want me to kiss and lick her toes. I sighed, not looking at her, not hearing her play anything else. Her left foot clean now, I took it out, got to my feet, picked up the tub and brought it to the kitchen sink. I dumped the water, rinsed out the tub, and then filled it up again with more warm water.

Toby had begun to play again by the time I settled back down in front of her. I went about scrubbing dry skin from her feet and I noticed that her playing was getting lazier and quieter, even more quiet than how she'd been playing, playing on an electric guitar that isn't plugged into an amplifier.

"What's the matter?" I ask, finally looking at her.

"Nothing." She answered, not looking at me, "It's just getting hot in here."

"I know what you mean." I say as I rinse the dry flakes from her feet, the right, and then the left. Then I stand again, gathering everything but the last dry towel, and then set it all on the kitchen counter. Suddenly, Toby stops playing all together.