I Just Don't Know . . . Ch. 04byBarelyJust©
Please check out Chapters 1, 2, and 3 before reading this. It'll help.
Several months passed and my life settled into a pattern of near normalcy. I had no trouble convincing myself that things were fine with my husband and was able to continue seeing Caroline on a regular basis. It was ridiculously easy, in fact, since both our husbands worked long hours and our children went off to school each day. We would meet about two or three times a month and would generally start the day with some sort of activity out of the house – a museum visit, clothes shopping, or a quick stop at a coffee shop but inevitably, we then went either to Caroline's house or mine. Sex was the binding element of our friendship - that was not questioned. I mean, we both genuinely enjoyed each other's company and had very companionable senses of humor and interests, but when we were out, I know all I could think of was Caroline's embrace and her kisses and her sweet, wet pussy. By the time we arrived home, it was all I could do to keep my hands off her until we had crossed the threshold into our sanctuary of safety.
Our encounters never failed to bring us both to stunning heights of fulfillment. I loved Caroline's feminine curves. Her body was truly voluptuous in the best possible sense – full, ripe breasts and hips, lips that were made to be kissed, and a thick mane of chestnut hair that I loved to twirl in my fingers as I went after those ruby red lips. As we became more and more accustomed to Sapphic lovemaking, we found new ways to heighten the experience. One day, we brought my laptop into bed with us and found a very erotic video to watch on a rather raunchy website. In it, two women got into a position in which they sort of overlapped their legs like scissors and rubbed their most private parts against one another (I'm sure there's a name for this). We watched the video as we fondled each other and soon tried it out ourselves. As we were highly lubricated, it was squishy and lush and really, really hot. I loved the fact that I could watch Caroline's face and see all of her body as we writhed together. We had orgasms that just about arrived in unison and I almost felt that we were worthy to be on the video screen ourselves. Other days brought aromatic oils and cute little toys that buzzed and probed. And it never got old.
So we came to a frigid day in January. Caroline arrived at my house mid-morning and after a brief look at TV over a cup of tea, we headed upstairs to our guest room. It was an unspoken rule that we never used the master bedroom in either house. It just wasn't even considered. Caroline was in an aggressive mood and had started ravishing me with kisses as she rubbed my breasts through layers of winter clothing. In short order, she pulled my ski sweater over my head, and soon did the same to the turtleneck I had on. It was as she was licking me in the valley separating the cups of my bra that we heard noises outside. A car door, footsteps on the front brick path and the stairs, followed by the twin-tone of the doorbell.
"Dammit," I said as I bolted from the bed to peek through the curtains. I couldn't see the front porch but I could see the Lexus that belonged to my closest friend, Charlotte. Charlotte, who I had known since college and who had been as close to me as my own sister. I looked over at Caroline, told her who it was, and watched her take over control of the situation in a millisecond.
"Get dressed, go into your bedroom, and lie down. You felt faint and I brought you upstairs," she barked. "I'll get the door. You've got 30 seconds, so go!" With that, she straightened her own clothes and strode from the room. I heard her descending the stairs as the bell sounded a second time. I threw on the turtleneck and sweater as I moved in double time to my own bed. Caroline reached the front door and opened it just as I was puffing up my pillows and lying down. I could barely hear her voice and Charlotte's as she gave her explanation of my sudden swoon. The fact that I was terrified probably helped give me an appropriately washed-out appearance which only got paler as two sets of footsteps approached from the first floor.
Charlotte came in first and her expression was one of real concern. "Em . . . what happened?"
I looked at her pitiably and softly croaked, "I don't know. I just suddenly felt all fuzzy headed. It's nothing, really." I could've been Meryl Streep.
Caroline chipped in, "Yeah, like I said, she just got all pale and shaky. It came out of nowhere. Do you have any ginger ale, Emily? I'll go get you some."
I nodded and said there was some in the refrigerator, so Caroline went off on her 'mission of mercy' leaving me alone with Charlotte and dreading the situation. I hated lying to my best friend. Charlotte sat on the edge of the bed and ran the back of her hand across my forehead before moving to my wrist to take my pulse. She asked if this had happened before and then, looking quizzical, she added, "You're not pregnant, are you?"
I shook my head and sighed, "Oh, God no. No, no, no. I probably just need something to eat. Please don't worry." Caroline walked in at that moment with the ginger ale.
"Hmm, pregnant," she said with a smile. "That could be it. You should get tested, Emily. But for now, have a sip of this."
Charlotte and Caroline had met before and they chatted easily but I did sense something of a distance between them. Charlotte had noticed our growing friendship and I detected a bit of hurt feelings in her manner. I resolved to remedy that both to keep my friend happy and to make sure she had no reason to think there was more than friendship to my relationship with Caroline. As I began to show more energy after my Camille-like episode, I reminded them that they were both invited to a cocktail party a week from Saturday. We were having seven couples over for the evening and it would be the first chance for Caroline and Charlotte to chat at length and to meet their respective mates.
Caroline looked at me doubtfully and said, "Well, you'd better take care of yourself or we'll be sipping drinks in a semi-private room next Saturday. I'm going to get going. Charlotte, do you mind staying with the swan here for a bit?"
"Of course not. Thanks for getting her up here safely."
With that, Caroline was off and Charlotte and I spent the next half hour talking about nothing in general and I began to 'gather my strength', congratulating myself at the time on the narrow escape Caroline and I had made, thanks in large part to her quick thinking.
Over the next week and a half, I didn't see either Caroline or Charlotte but spoke to both of them on the phone. Caroling shared my relief that we hadn't been caught and Charlotte inquired into my general well-being. I assured her that I was fine and that I was looking forward to seeing her at the cocktail party.
* * *
The party went like so many other get-togethers I had hosted or attended over the years. Couples went their separate ways; men huddled to talk about finances and golf; women discussed their kids, books, in-laws, and other time-worn topics. I was happy to see a nice flow of bodies from one location to another. It was a fluid mixture and everyone seemed to enjoy themselves. The level of drinking was moderate as people seemed more intent on talking and eating hors d'oeuvres than becoming obnoxiously plastered. So it went until I announced that coffee and dessert was available in the dining room.
For the first time that evening, everyone was together and a topical conversation ensued. Someone brought up national politics and before long, we were discussing how normal it seemed that America had elected a non-white president. This led someone to pose the question of how long it would be before an openly gay person could hold the office. Peter Willis, a friend and business associate of my husband, seized the opportunity and cracked, "Hey, if a hot-looking lesbian ran, she'd win on the heterosexual male vote alone." This got laughs from the room and by chance Caroline and I made eye contact just for an instant and couldn't avoid what I would describe as conspiratorial smirks. That was it. Just a nod and a giggle between friends . . . and lovers. I thought nothing more of it. Our party wound down and guests pretty much left en masse having had, they all told me, a wonderful time.
* * *
I was in the kitchen the following Monday morning when the doorbell rang. I opened the door to find Charlotte standing there with a look on her face that was as cold as ice. She walked in without a word and reached the center of my living room. Turning to face me, she practically growled, "How stupid do you think I am?"
Well, if it had been a lighter moment, I might have suggested that that was a leading question. Instead, I gaped at her and answered, "What are you talking about?"
She shook her head and, as if talking to herself, sneered, "Faint. You felt faint. Caroline took you upstairs and made sure you were okay. All the time, you were laughing at me." She paused, gathered her breath, and continued with the crusher. "You and she are lovers. I walked in on you. I realize that now."
My heart was pounding out of my chest but I fought to sound calm. "Are you crazy? What in heaven's name are you talking about?"
"I thought there was something funny going on, but I couldn't pin it down. And then, Saturday night, Peter made that crack and I saw you. I saw the two of you. That look. That look opened my eyes. Emily, how can you? Where did this come from?" She was rolling now and her voice crescendoed right over my vigorous head shakes of denial. "You have a family. You have a daughter. You have a wonderful husband. If he finds out, it'll kill him!"
"He won't find out."
And then silence. I wanted to reel in the words as though they were on a string. But they were out there, floating across the room and could not be erased. Charlotte just stared at me with her mouth agape. I was frozen to the spot, unable to voice any call back or denial. After what seemed like an eternity, Charlotte sighed ever so softly and walked to the door, leaving me rooted to the spot. I heard her open the door and close it gently behind her. And then I started shaking.
* * *
I didn't tell Caroline. I just wanted to think things out first. I really couldn't imagine Charlotte telling Richard although, more than once, in the middle of that night, I woke in a cold sweat to semi-conscious nightmares – creations in which my world was collapsing as Charlotte told everyone on the planet all that she knew. I toyed with the idea of telling Richard myself, but found I wasn't nearly brave enough to do so.
It was on Thursday that my phone rang, mid-morning. Caller ID revealed it was Charlotte and I almost let it go but on the fourth ring, I picked it up and said, "Hi, Charlotte."
Her voice was business-like, without a trace of warmth or forgiveness. "I need you to come over. Now. Please."
"Twenty minutes," I replied and hung up without another word.
I entered Charlotte's kitchen via the back door, not bothering to knock. This was standard procedure. Charlotte was sitting at the table with a cup of coffee in front of her. She motioned to the coffeemaker and said, "Help yourself." I did so and sat down across the table from her. We sat in silence for a few moments. I finally broke it with, "I'm sorry."
She waited a moment before responding. Her face was devoid of emotion. "I hoped I wasn't right. I hoped I was being a fool but . . . I knew I wasn't." She then asked how it had come about and I recounted (in very abbreviated form) what had first occurred on that day in the summer and later in New York City. She listened, expressionless, not asking for extra details, just focused on my words.
"I take it it's good."
"It must really be good for you to . . . do this. To take this chance. I mean, you wouldn't be this reckless, this . . . insane, if it wasn't good, to the point of being intoxicating, no?"
I stared at her, weighing my words. "Yes. Yes, it's . . . it's amazing. I didn't go looking for it and I really don't believe Caroline did either. But we . . ."
"Show me." Her interruption was sharp and sudden. "Show me. Make me understand."
I was aghast. "Charlotte, now stop." I stumbled for words as I shook my head. "You know there's no way . . ."
"Show me or I'll tell Richard." Her green eyes suddenly blazed and her hands were pressed against the table so hard that I could count the veins running through them. I didn't truly believe her threat for a second, but all the same, she had me scared. Charlotte was a tough cookie, someone I loved having as a friend because I knew if I needed her backing in a dispute, she'd always be there, fervent and fiery. Now, that aspect of her personality worked to inspire in me a fear of where this was going.
She stood up, crossed to me, grabbed my hand rather roughly and said, "Come on. I'm not kidding." She pulled me to my feet and, over my rather lame protests, led me from the kitchen, upstairs to her bedroom. The master bedroom. No prohibitions in this environment.
She half-threw me on the edge of the bed, surprising me with her strength. Charlotte is not a big woman, standing only about 5'2" and barely weighing 100 well-toned pounds. She stood in front of me as I blubbered one more protest. "Charlotte. We can't do this. For God's sake, we're like sisters! What are you thinking?"
She stared down at me. "Hmm. Sisters. Incest turns a lot of people on. Kind of kinky, isn't it?" She was angry but a trace of a smile crossed her face. By God, I thought, she might actually be enjoying this! Suddenly, in a swift pull, the college sweatshirt she was wearing was over her head and on the floor. She was left with a plain white bra covering her small breasts which, I couldn't help but notice, were heaving with the exertion of her actions and were topped by two distinct nipples threatening to cut right through the cups of the garment.
My head was spinning. I felt like Alice, spinning like a top on the way down the rabbit hole. But I also realized I no longer felt like running. I watched, mesmerized, as Charlotte unbuckled her belt and shimmied out of her jeans. Now it just was that bra and a pair of dotted Swiss bikini panties, white with red dots. I could see the dark curls of her pubic hair through the sheer panty material and realized that I was responding to the raw, intense sexiness of this mad, mad moment.
She sat down next to me. "I want to be kissed," she said. "I want to know . . ."
Our eyes locked. She moved in and found my mouth with hers. I locked my lips shut and leaned back on my extended arms to support myself as she kissed me. A sound formed in my throat, one of refusal that even I recognized was half-hearted. If anything, it sounded like someone saying, "No, no, don't, don't . . . don't stop." Gradually, her lips won out, slowly separating mine and working her tongue forward. She smelled wonderful and I felt myself being won over by this craziness. Her hands took hold of the back of my head and the kiss went on and on, getting hotter and wetter. The girl knew how to kiss, using her tongue to explore and making breathy, mewling sounds that were incredibly arousing. The random flashes that entered my brain saying, "Stop! This is Charlotte, you can't!" became less and less frequent and finally faded away like a train whistle gradually disappearing into the countryside.
Charlotte finally broke the kiss and started unbuttoning my sweater. As she did, I kissed my way down her neck and heard her moan of pleasure at the touch of my lips on her skin. Once my sweater was gone, I stood and quickly removed my slacks, then rejoined Charlotte on the bed, taking her in my arms as we slid, side by side, to a horizontal embrace. And we kissed. And caressed. Charlotte was obviously new to this and it was apparent that she was fascinated by the novelty of it. Her hands were everywhere – my shoulders, down my arms, along my outer thighs and up to my bottom, which she squeezed and kneaded with mounting urgency. Then she lowered a bra strap from my shoulder and pulled the cup back until my very-erect nipple was revealed. She stared, then kissed it, and began to suck, gently at first and progressively harder and with more slurping sounds until I was moaning, begging for more.
Soon, both of our bras were gone and we were alternating attacks on exposed nipples. Charlotte's little breasts and their firm, coral-colored nipples were heaven to suck. I found I was taking almost her whole breast into my mouth and she was loving it. As I sucked, she was first kissing and then sucking on my neck, down near my collarbone. I remember thinking, "This is rough! I've never had such urgent, hard sex before." And it was thrilling in its perverse way.
I gave up my hold on Charlotte's breasts and moved lower, trailing kisses down her trunk to her navel, which I licked as I found the waistband of her panties. She arched her back to help me slip them off and it was Charlotte's hands on the top of my head that told me where she wanted me to go. I slid lower as the panties did the same and, like a snake, my mouth slithered through her dark brown pussy hair and found its target. Charlotte's softly moaning voice barely registered as my hands met at the top of her thighs and pulled apart, revealing dewy-wet lips of multiple folds that begged to be explored.
And explore I did, starting with a long, slow south-to-north lick that drew a shudder from far away, near the headboard. Then darting pecks and in and out thrusts, and finally, with my hand gently working the hood upward and away, contact with Charlotte's clit. I gave it my all – swirling wet lashings of varying degrees of contact and it must've worked because Charlotte was a sobbing, screaming, rolling mess, in a trance of lust as she ate it all up. Actually, it was I doing the eating but she was a willing subject. And so wet! My goodness, my face was coated with Charlotteness, a taste subtly different from Caroline but every bit as thrilling. I added a finger to my act, easily sliding it into her and settling into a smooth liquid rhythm in concert with my tongue. At one point, I looked up and saw Charlotte's head rolling from side to side while she tugged on her erect nipples with both hands. This intense physical reaction had my rapt attention. With noise and movement, she made it obvious that all the right spots were being hit and when the crest was reached, she practically levitated. She came in a spurt of wetness as I sucked her nubby clit for dear life. And then, she fell back to the bed, gasping.
I quietly moved up next to her and watched as her breathing returned to a normal state. It took a while. Then, we lay next to each other, both of us looking up at the ceiling wondering what the heck we should do or say next. It was Charlotte who gathered the courage to speak up.
"Holy shit." It was a barely audible whisper. I didn't respond.
"I mean," she paused, searching for words, or strength, or both. Then a sigh. She looked across at me. "I . . . I'm sorry. But . . ."
"Stop," I said, as I sat up. "Did you like it?" A wide-eyed nod indicated that, yes, of course she had. "Well, then, let's not talk. Just lie back and enjoy the feeling."
More silence. And then, Charlotte spoke without turning to face me. "I don't think I can do that. What you did, I mean."
I was confused at first but it dawned on me that she was referring to reciprocation. The poor thing felt she had to go down on me now but it was beyond her physical, or emotional, capability. "You don't have to. Really. It's fine. Probably better that you don't." I was struck by the intense silence in the room every time I paused.