"Jesus, I don't know," she sighed. "...I don't know what happened..." Her hand went to the crotch; her eyes were apologetic. She was graceful, but Terry knew what she was doing. She pressed the clitoris down, and down again, and then she drew her hand relaxed a little. It now was covered with a thin veneer of away, leading Terry's hand to the opening, which had dampness.
One of Irene's hands was in her hole, but the other hand was playing with the slight layer of flesh that covered her back, kneading the un-muscled, tissue against the spine. This brought her breast closer, and Terry gasped as her own hard tit was caressed -- as if accidentally -- by Irene's aureole, hard as stone. Her hand moved from the girl's diaphragm to the breast itself, and she held the palm open, scooping the boob up in her hand before she squeezed down and pressed the loose flesh together.
Terry jammed her ass down into the mattress, and the bed squeaked. Irene was writhing under the slow, circular rubbing of her mound. Her eyes were shut, and her ups were drawn inside her mouth, discolored by the pressure Irene brought to bear as she tensed her body for the coming climax.
Terry forced the tit against her own, rubbing them together until both were stiffer. She let go of the breast, and then her arms tightened around Irene until both were locked in embrace. Both tried to force their cunts together, imitating coital friction, but the clits did not touch, lost inside the nestle of pubic hair.
Irene felt Terry's knuckles press into the back of her hand, and in another second she felt three fingers force her cunt wide as they rammed almost to the womb, straining the wet skin around the outside of the hole, already stretched from childbirth.
Her own fingers dipped deep inside Terry's cunt, which began to vibrate with orgasm. The large girl's ass began to bump the bed. The mattress springs moaned out a swift rhythm, a squalling wheeze, overwhelmed only by their own breathing, like waves of the same incredible force. "Oh, yeah... oh, yes, oh... oh..." Terry's voice was an agonized plea for each stroke. With each new jab some incomprehensible syllable was forced from her mouth, her throat dry and rasping. Irene was silent. Her own vagina was so wet that Terry's fingering made a low, gushing sound.
When it was over, Terry leaned back. Her body was so sensitive in the aftermath of orgasm that she felt every wrinkle in the sheet that touched her back. She shivered with delight, and her spine curved as she dug her rear into the bed, separating the cheeks slightly with her movement. She felt wet all over, not just in her cunt, but under her arms, even in her asshole.
Irene was so tired that she could not even move. Her legs were still parted, and she was still sitting on her butt. She leaned a little to the right, and her palm, drilled to the bed, supported most of her weight. She was stiff, as if posing. Her body, though, was moving with her stilt heavy breathing. Her eyes were closed, and she felt half asleep already.
Terry moved off of the bed. She stood behind Irene and pushed her gently down on the bed, then covered her with the sheet and blanket. She fluffed the pillow under the young mother's bead.
When she came back from the bathroom, Irene was asleep. She sat at the desk for the next hour, composing the note.
When Irene woke the next morning, she realized intuitively that Terry was gone, that she had not even spent the night after the two had made love. Her eyes darted around the room. She did not know what she was looking for until she saw the long envelope on the desk.
Irene
It just is not good anymore. You know that, don't you? Last night I realized again how much I cared for you. I love you. I've never told another woman that. But all the time we're not making love, I feel jealous. I feel annoyed. And, I guess, I feel guilt, because I was the one who made you have Claude. You don't need me now. You need him, and he needs you. I'm even a little jealous I didn't have the baby.
I'm trying to make sense out of this, I really am. And I know I'm not succeeding. Forgive me. I know I'll want to see you again, but don't wait for me. You have a new life now, whether either of us planned it that way or not.
I love you, Irene. Please believe that.
Terry
And she had never seen Terry again.
Chapter Four
"Why not?" Elaine's voice showed her irritation. She looked at Claude, who balanced a half-dozen peas on his fork. She did not want to look at Irene. She knew the expression on her face without having to look. It was almost pathetic, a kind of tentative appeal, as if the woman were afraid her knuckles would be rapped.
"Look at me, for Christ sake, Elaine."
"All right. So just tell me why."
"That's just it. I don't want to talk about it now. Later."
"I've been trying to talk to you about this for days. And every time it's later. I've been talking to those girls at work, and they're having a party Friday night. Now, we're invited. I want to know if I can accept. It just isn't worth you giving me this hard a time, is it, Irene?"
"I guess not." Irene was not quite contrite. She was beginning to feel more assertive, although the forms of her new independence had not really been worked out yet. She looked at Claude and smiled. The youngster returned the glance, his lips drawing back and exposing his teeth in a childish grin.
Elaine was silent, almost sulky, for the rest of the meal. Claude went into his room directly following dessert, and the two lovers were left in the kitchen.
"Do you have to expose all of our private life to him? Are you just doing it to needle me? He's my son, Elaine. He's my responsibility. I don't want him to grow up like this."
"I just wanted a yes or no answer. You've been hanging us upon this for the last month."
"It's me against 'us', right? You're 'us', in this case."
"If it has to be, then, yes."
Irene turned from the sink, a dish still in her hand. "Isn't one lover enough for you? You'd think you had to prove your Goddamn virility."
In one liquid movement Elaine raised her hand and slapped Irene across the face. The plate dropped from Irene's hand and broke noisily against the linoleum floor. "Don't you ever ridicule me again!"
Irene was surprised at the emotion that overtook her body. It was rage. Yet her instinctive recoiling from violence -- from psychic violence more than physical conflict -- made her say, "Please! Claude will hear."
Elaine laughed. "What are you so afraid of? That he'll turn out to be like us -- like you? Is that so bad?"
Elaine's body was close to hers, and her back touched the edge of the sink. She suddenly fell threatened by the other woman's physical presence. She tried to squirm from the trap, and as soon as she did Elaine's animal sense told her, her lover was afraid. Smiling, she made the most of that fear. Her hand opened and squeezed down on the slender forearm. Irene twisted within the grip.
"Are you going to, or not?"
"No. No!"
Elaine took the other forearm in her other hand and dragged Irene closer toward her, Elaine raised her leg inside Irene's legs, touching the crotch of her slacks with her knee. Irene bucked her hips and tried to move away from the pressure. Elaine laughed, and she let go of Irene's arms. Irene, not expecting the release, fell back and trying to break her fall, pushed her arms behind herself. Elaine knelt down and slapped her face with her open hand.