Berry's Second Chances Ch. 02byPacoFear©
Author's Note: This two-chaptered story was motivated by a sufficient number of nice folks asking me variations of the following question: "So whatever happened to Berry from 'Strawberries & Bubblegum'?"
Don't worry, you don't have to be one of these people, or even understand the question they posed, to find "Berry's Second Chances" entertaining. You just have to like hearing a story from a girl who mistakenly let the first love of her life get away, only to be offered a much-deserved second chance.
As it turns out, Berry gets two second chances. The first chapter described her first and this second chapter describes her second. Apologies, but you'll need to read the first chapter for this to fall together.
Fair warning: this story is long and romantic and 95% lesbian. With any luck you'll be sniffling and swooning in equal parts. Those tissues work on noses too you know.
As always, everyone is over eighteen. Enjoy.
~*~ Berry's Second Chances Ch. 02~*~
Heather just about keeled over when I showed up unannounced at her med school apartment and asked her to be my maid of honor.
Thank God I worked up the guts to ask. I never would have made it through the wedding without her. Heather was my rock, steering me through bridal hell, waging the little wars I didn't have the heart or time to fight with friends and family.
Everyone had opinions about how a wedding should go and they seemed eager to share them with the bride. Beyond stressful.
Heather, flanked by Hero and Samantha when summoned, fended off my crazier family with the sort of polite cunning I've only seen on daytime soap operas. With their help, I actually got to pick out my own flowers. And my cake.
The one thing Heather did not tend to was my bachelorette party. She turned over that bit of business to Samantha and I eventually learned why.
Sweet mother of all creation. I remember only bits and pieces of that night. Shots of liquor that tasted suspiciously like gasoline. Music so loud it made my teeth hurt. Where Sam found a team of knife-juggling Welsh midgets I try not to think about.
Naturally, there were also a dozen overly-endowed male dancers with bulges barely contained by garments skimpier than anything I owned. They took turns swaying their dangling equipment a few inches from my face—not something I'd be into usually, but the drunker I got, the more fun it got.
I paid for the fun the next morning. I woke up wearing a thong bikini two sizes too small for me and face down in a lounge chair next to the pool of a hotel I don't even remember checking into.
Best of all, a burning sensation on my left butt cheek had me craning my neck to look back the moment I came to.
"I wuv Bobbie" tattooed onto my ass. Lovely.
At least the funny bitches stuffed some cab fare in my thong. Though, dressed the way I was, jumbo ivory boobs and lily-white ass pretty much swinging out in the breeze, the cab driver probably would've given me a ride for free.
On the way home, perched on my one good ass cheek and picking glitter out of my tangled red hair, I plotted my revenge, muttering under my breath about bitches getting their just desserts.
I forgave it all when Heather rescued the wedding toast. Bobbie's tipsy college roommate had delivered a horrible off-colored stand up bit that included commentary on what he considered my two chief assets—my left one and my right one. I wanted to crawl under the head table and wait for everyone to leave.
Heather zipped to the front and pried the best man's microphone off him, bowling over a waiter on the away. She proceeded to pour out her heart in front of everyone—about her brother, about me, and about what we all meant to each other. She managed it in the space of two minutes and had the entire room laughing, crying, then laughing again.
When she was done and the entire room stood to clap, Bobbie rushed her. He picked her up and spun her around. I had to pull her off him to get my hug in.
Other than that, the wedding was a wedding. We'd dressed up pretty, we'd gotten hitched, then danced and drank. Usual stuff.
It's the honeymoon that wasn't so usual.
It started the normal way. The morning after our wedding, Bobbie and I flew to Nassau. The second-floor room was beautiful—soft, plushy furniture and huge floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over white sand beaches.
It was a great view that I didn't get to see much of in the beginning because I was almost immediately facedown in some very nice Egyptian cotton sheets. Bobbie had bent me over the footboard.
The bellboy hadn't even shut the door behind him before my new hubbie hiked up my skirt, dragged my panties to my ankles, and eased his cock into me.
Slow and easy. Wicked boy. He knew I'd want it hard after dozing on his broad shoulder for the flight down. He knows quite well that napping makes me frisky.
My sweet, terrible man toyed with me without mercy. I pushed back against him, trying to urge him on but it was now use. He kept to his own rhythm, his large hand pushing me down at the small of my back to keep me still, teasing me with his long measured thrusts. Deep deep ones.
Good. So good.
Oh how I loved him and the way he often sensed what I needed better than I did. One step ahead as usual. I was a drippy, moaning, happy mess by the end.
After that first long, slow session and a brief rest, we did it again on the bathroom sink, humping more frantically like the newlywed bunnies we were. We stopped just long enough for a room service refuel before starting up again.
On day two, we actually made it out of the room for a long day of sightseeing and then collapsed afterwards.
That night, now two nights after our wedding, I had one of my running dreams. It wasn't that strange all by itself, I'd been dreaming about running a lot because I'd been racking up a ton of miles training for my third marathon the following month. The extra mileage had the added perk of slimming me down to the thinnest I'd ever been, and just in time for my wedding dress.
The running dream I had that night was an odd one though. I was jogging along on a trail that wound through a flowered meadow, the trail's dirt so dark and springy-soft, the air thick and sweet.
Flowers? No, something even sweeter. Like candy or... dammit, I know that smell.
"...reee...?" I heard a voice but I couldn't quite make it out. I looked around and didn't see anyone. I kept running.
"Berry?" Clearer now. Dammit, I know that voice too.
It came again, louder this time."Berry?"
I stopped and looked down. A little chipmunk was standing up on a rock. It was the cutest chipmunk I'd ever seen and it smiled up at me.
Wait a minute, chipmunks don't smile. And they don't have big sky blue eyes. And they sure has hell don't talk. "C'mon, wake up, Berry."
I listened to the pretty chipmunk and woke up. And gasped.
In the dark, Heather, my ex-girlfriend and newly-minted sister-in-law was crouched on the floor next to my side of the bed.
"Bu-bubble?" I stuttered, knuckling sleep from my eyes. "How did you—how come you're here?"
She pouted. "I flew on a plane like you, silly. And I came because I didn't get you a wedding present. No money. I feel like such a jerk. I'm getting tired of being a poor student."
"Oh honey." I tugged one arm out from under the blankets to rub her bare neck. "Being my maid-of-honor was all I wanted. Besides," I nodded back towards the other side of the bed where I could hear Bobbie still sleeping, "you're the one that gave me him, my husband, remember? That's the best wedding present possible."
Her smile was half-hearted. She chewed her lower lip as she put her hand on mine and squeezed it. "That doesn't count, Stace. He was giving himself. I didn't get you a thing."
She tugged my hand up to her face and rubbed it absently across her cheek. It made me remember how much she used to like being petted. "I guess I was thinking that there might be something, something else, I could give you as a wedding present."
Her eyes were doing their big, shiny blue that had always made my heart melt. And her skin was so smooth, even against the back of my hand. Like satin. I'd almost forgotten how soft she was.
I was still shaking off sleep and none of it seemed real. Heather in my bedroom? And she was asking me if—
"Sweetie," I blinked and fought to keep my voice steady, "are you saying what I think you're saying?"
"Depends," she turned her face slowly to kiss each of my knuckles, "what do you think I'm saying?" She didn't let me answer her question. "It's a little chilly out here, Berry. Probably much warmer under those nice toasty covers," she hinted.
I peeked down and only then noticed she was wearing just a small white crop top and panties, rounded cleavage high and shifting with each breath.
No wonder she was cold. Hold on a sec, how did she get here and in that outfit?
It was a good question, but one that melted away when she tired of waiting for me to make the first move. I felt her lift the bedspread.
"Mind?" she asked politely as she scooted in.
"Not really." I slid over to make room for her, rolling onto my back.
Thrill and guilt and anxiety rushed in as she pressed herself into my side and rested her head on my shoulder. Her skin was cool against mine and her oversized breasts, the only ones I'd ever touched larger than my own, smooshed into my ribs.
My high school sweetheart was in my bed. My honeymoon bed. My marital bed. And my husband was snoozing right next to us.
The skin of her bare belly was warming against my side and I could feel goose bumps on the arm she threw across my stomach. I rubbed her forearm a few times and told myself it was to warm her up.
Yes, that's why. See? I'm being good.
Heather's nose found the crook of my neck. "Mmmm, you're warm as ever. Are you're also," her hand skimmed down my side to my bare hip then stopped, "naked?" she whispered.
Oops, I'd forgotten. "Bobbie put me to sleep in a very nice way."
It piqued her interest enough to make her stop tracing circles on my neck with the tip of her nose. "How nice?" she asked a little too loud.
I shushed her. "Very nice. Orally nice."
"My baby brother any good at that?" she asked, her breath warm on my skin.
Her directness made me chuckle. "Actually, he's very talented."
"You mean for a boy."
"Actually I mean for anybody."
She pulled back, one of her golden eyebrows already arched. "He as good as me?"
I rolled my eyes. "How would I know? You've probably been getting your share of practice too."
"I mean from before," she murmured, smirking. "Or don't you remember?"
"Think about it. Is that really what you want me to do? Compare the two of you?"
She slid away a bit and sighed. "No. Maybe. I don't know."
I'd upset her and now I felt bad.
I found her hand and squeezed it beneath the blankets. "Bubble? Was this what you meant when you told me that you and I weren't done yet? Was this your grand plan? Sneak into my bed on my honeymoon to make me remember you and me?"
She looked up at the ceiling and let out a long slow breath. "Well, not exactly."
Another voice, huskier, chimed in from the long shadows on the far side of the hotel room. "She's right, Red. Not exactly."
My skin nearly peeled off my bones. If Heather's arm hadn't been holding me down, I'd have jumped clear to the ceiling. How I didn't wake Bobbie I still don't know.
Heather giggled quietly at my wide-eyed fright. "Easy, Berry. It's just Sam."
Samantha sauntered forward into better light and smiled. "Yeppers, just me."
She was as pretty as ever in a charcoal gray silk dress that swirled with black-stitched Asian designs. It was beautiful and tailored perfectly to her little dancer's figure. The muted, dark pattern made her almost invisible in the nighttime hotel room—a perfect outfit for sneakery. Even her long dark hair helped, its curls shielding her face.
I blinked a few times, still trying to get my heart re-started.
"Crap. I think I jumped the gun there," Sam sighed.
Heather was still looking at me. "Yeah, maybe a little."
Samantha frowned. "Maybe I should wait down by the elevators."
Heather nodded and Sam sank back into the dark, her whispered footsteps moving towards the door. She paused just long enough to dish a very motherly reminder. "Blondie? Remember your dress is here on the chair."
At the click of the door closing, I looked finally at Heather. Her face was one giant apology. "I'm sorry, Berry. I didn't mean for this to get weird. I just... just wanted to invite you upstairs for a while. We got a big room."
"Sam," she rolled her lips, rubbing them in a way that drew my attention. They parted again with a touch of hesitation. "And Hero."
Nothing had changed. We'd made our choices. "Sounds like you have plenty of company already. You don't need me. Why don't we meet for waffles in the morning," I offered, trying my best to make it sound like fun.
She took my pathetic breakfast invitation with a wince, as if I'd slapped her. "Need you? Of course I need you. Berry, I don't think you're getting it. I came here for you. We all did."
"Just trust me okay? Like you used to? Come upstairs just for a little while. We'll have a few drinks. A few laughs. A few... whatevers. Please?" The big shiny-blue eyes were back.
Heather sensed me wavering and stole my chance to answer by coming in for the thing some part of me had been hoping for the minute she woke me up.
It was a real one, one that chased away the lingering doubts I still had that I might be dreaming all of this. I wasn't. It would be impossible to dream all the little things about an old lover at the same time. The softness of Heather's lips, their ripe fullness. Her sweet smell. Her sweeter taste.
The smell thing did me in¬ as thoroughly as ever, tumbling me into warm high school memories of us snuggling together on school buses. Of trading sneaky smooches on the far side of the girls' locker room. Of going to prom together as friends then sharing a hotel room bed afterwards as lovers.
The room spun a little with my lips mashed against Heather's. Something enormous in my chest stirred and shifted. I felt it yawn and stretch, shaking off the cobwebs of a too-long slumber.
See? Not gone. Never gone. Just sleeping. Waiting.
It squeezed a whimper from my throat and into Heather's mouth. She purred back, her kiss growing more eager, lips steadily crushing mine. Her hand found the back of my neck to pull me in tighter.
I was already parting my lips when her tongue drove in, licking, stroking, teasing. It earned her another whimper. Then two.
Good God, this girl knows how to kiss me.
When we finally came up for air, panting into each other's mouths, I whispered the only answer I could, "Okay okay, you win, girlie. One drink. I'm not so sure about the whatever though, okay?"
"Yay," she cheered, "I knew you'd come to your senses eventually." She shimmied out of the bed and tried to tug me with her. I fended her off.
"Hand me that robe on the floor?"
She gave me a funny look, but retrieved it, handing over the soft white terry robe. In a fit of shyness, I pulled it on beneath the blankets before getting up.
Heather raised another eyebrow but kept quiet then led the way out. I followed her swaying bubble butt, wrapped in their little boyshort undies, to the door before coming to my senses. "Wait a sec. Duh, Bobbie? What if he wakes up?"
She nodded then scribbled a quick note with a pad and pen by the room's desk and left it on my pillow. "Okay, ready? Sam's waiting, remember?"
Heather cracked open the door and stepped out, waving for me to follow. By the hallway lights I could see her little top and underwear weren't actually white. They were a very soft and delicate yellow. More importantly, she stepped out and began tooling down the hall in next to nothing and didn't seem concerned.
Wait her dress.
I doubled back for what she'd forgotten just before the door shut. "Don't you want you this, Bubble?"
"Oops! Yeah, bring it. Sam'll flip if I forget it. She and Hero picked it."
I plucked it up. It was a twin for the one Samantha had been wearing, just as tailored. This one was snow white with a pale yellow stitched rising sun across its back, rays spreading from shoulder to shoulder.
It felt slinky and exotic just gathered up in my hands. I wondered what it would be like to wear something like it even as I returned it to Heather. I'd always been more of a t-shirt and jeans kind of girl.
Heather didn't bother putting it on, simply flung it over her shoulder as I shut the door behind me with care.
When we rounded the corner, Sam was leaning against a wall, her arms folded. She shook her head at Heather with a sad smile. "That's your elevator riding outfit?"
Heather twitched her nose in her way that hinted mischief. "Tonight? Yep." She marched straight for the elevators, three-quarters naked.
Samantha's look at me through her dark bangs was a comic plea for help. "Has she always been like this?"
I shrugged my sympathy. "Actually, I think she's matured a whole lot."
"Yeah, I was afraid you were going to say that." Her long suffering sigh was as cheeky as it should have been and it made me giggle. Sam joined in.
As had happened before when we were together, for a moment, we were silent co-conspirators, the only two female members of the rarified, I-got-into-Heather's panties club. In fact, after way too much wine one night, Sam had promised to have t-shirts made for us.
Heather stepped into an opening elevator, empty thank God, and waved us in impatiently. The three of us rode upstairs. Further away from my husband. Closer to Heather's carefully vague "whatevers."
What the hell am I doing? Well, one thing is clear.
"I'm not getting naked in front of Hero." With a good dose of horror, I realized I'd said it out loud. The words had just tumbled out and I immediately felt like a jackass, the dufus who showed up to a quiet suburban swingers' party and loudly announces, without being prompted, that he's "not doing any dudes."
Sam stiffened at my gaff and made a thoughtful show of counting the elevator's ceiling tiles.
Heather smiled and patted the small of my back like I wasn't a nutcase and I hadn't just blurted out something utterly retarded. "That's good, honey, 'cause he's not getting anywhere near us. I'm thinking no boys tonight."
That drew Samantha's attention off the ceiling tiles. She gave Heather a puzzled look.
"Sorry, I didn't mean you, Sammie. Boink the man's brains out if you want."
Samantha shrugged then nodded, evidently satisfied.
The casual ease of their exchange was unsettling.
Oh yeah, I'm definitely going to Hell. Hope it's nice there.
We reached the top floor, the elevator chimed, and the doors slid open.
For the record, Hell has a lovely decorator.
Samantha led the way from the elevator towards a set of large double doors at the end of a short hall. I was just behind her, hypnotized by her easy, hip-rolling grace. It wasn't the first time I'd thought that, if she were a foot taller, she'd be at home strutting a cat walk.
It was the height thought that made me realize something that hadn't registered before. Sam was barefoot.
It was strange because I'd never seen her without a pair of heels. She was the biggest shoe junky I'd ever met. I'd seen her gigantic collection—some of them barely worn.
More importantly, barefoot, she was a full head shorter than me. I was looking down at her and, whether she did it on purpose or not, it helped. She seemed a lot less intimidating.