Sipping it, she slipped a hand up under her skirt and felt her panty crotch. Soggy. Slippery with juice. She went to her bedroom for fresh panties. Peeling off the stained ones, she gazed at Sonny, sprawled naked on the bed, breathing shallowly in deep sleep. She could not resist going to him, bending down and kissing his genitals.
She sat on the edge of the bed sipping her drink, studying his beautiful young body, involuntarily dropping a hand into her crotch and massaging her pussy as she gazed fondly at him.
It was a silent hour, Sunday evening. She had bathed and put on a flowered print dress, very short, a clinging garment that molded to her shape. Her hair was brushed out, her eyelashes darkened with mascara. They had eaten only snacks today and this meager consumption of food contributed to her feeling of lightness and ease.
When she returned she would wake Sonny up, get fucked again. It seemed very doubtful to her that he would take any interest in Lily tomorrow, after a weekend like this one.
She fingered her hairy cunt lips together and pressed on her clit. A bubble of heat grew. She massaged it slowly, while sipping her drink and watching him. She began to hope that Myra had gone off on another tack. Maybe she would not show up.
The liquor warmed her, and by the time she finished, it had gone to her head.
She should not drink when she already felt this lazily content. Especially not when she had to make things perfectly clew to Myra.
Her hips were beginning to move, pressing her swollen clit into the rocky motion of her slippery cunt lips, when she heard the beep of a car horn out front.
Myra!
She sprang up, left her glass on the dresser, threw a silent kiss to Sonny, and dashed out.
She was on the front walk when she realized that she was not wearing panties.
It would be too much bother to go back. She climbed into Myra's car.
Myra twisted the steering wheel viciously, wrenching the car into a U-turn, wheeled out of it on screeching tires, and raced toward the avenue leading out of town.
"I bit him," she snarled.
"You what?"
"His cock. Don's. The asshole."
The car windows were open and Myra's blonde hair flagged out in a wind-tom banner. Her eyes were narrowed to angry green slits. She wore a white summer dress and as the car crossed a potholed intersection her big breasts leaped wildly about. She was not wearing a bra. Her hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white with tension.
She turned to Kit and snapped, "I phoned you all day yesterday. Where in hell were you?"
"Sonny and I went swimming."
Myra ignored the stop sign at the avenue, tooled out onto it, burning rubber.
She said, "Yesterday I needed you but you had to be off with your goddam kid."
Kit could only be amused by the other's anger. She owed nothing to Myra, and her scary driving was rather exhilarating. Lounging in her corner of the front seat, feeling the wind bat her hair, pleasantly clean, in a fresh dress, cool despite her drooling cunt, she did not mind Myra's ranting.
She said mildly, "Myra, why don't you fuck yourself?"
A green-eyed glance cut at her. "Some friend you are.
"We're not friends. We were lovers for an evening. Like a pickup, shackup. Period. I think you're griping to hear your own voice. Don seems very fond of you. He earns a good living. He probably has reasonable complaints against you, for instance your pot smoking. It's against the law and why should he risk trouble, losing his job or jail or what not?"
"Because I like smoking grass!" Myra shrilled. Her cheeks reddened with anger but shortly her foot eased on the accelerator, as though the outburst had eased her tension.
She slowed the car and scooped up her skirt.
Surprised, Kit saw a pink streak near her panty waistband. Myra dug in for it, drew out a skinny grass cigarette and handed it to Kit.
"Light it for me, will you?"
Kit took a pack of matches from the dashboard, bent down below the whipping air currents and lit up. She guessed a car was the safest place for smoking the stuff. If a cop car showed, the roach could always be flipped out the window.
She took a deep drag before handing it to Myra, held it bottled up deep inside her, hoping she would again get the movie-camera effect and turn colors inside out the, way she had the abstract paintings at Myra's house. She had no interest in renewing their lesbian play. She simply felt so good that she wanted to try out the psychedelic color effects again.
By the time they had smoked half of the stick, she had it. Trees along the highway, drab, dusty things, were Technicolor to kelly green. Wind stripped clouds miles above turned pastel, gorgeous dusty-blue and baby-pink, lowered until she could touch them. She was in marvelous shape when Myra at last threw away the roach. Slouched in the seat, an arm out the window, legs spraddled, breezes cooling her, Kit lost all sense of time and space as she gazed at the magically transformed world about her.
Myra said, "That beautiful pussy of yours! Move over here. Let me pet it as I drive."
Kit realized that her skirt had blown up. She gazed down at her crotch. Her muff was pure spun copper and drawn gold, shadowed with green and mahogany, colors that had never naturally adorned any twat unless seen through the kaleidoscope lenses of pot and hash.
She spread her legs wider and slid a hand over her thigh, caressing the silky tangles of pubic hair, saying, "I'll do it myself, Myra. I like to."
"You gorgeous piece, you're teasing me, you mouth-watering bitch!"
"No. I'm through with girlie stuff." "You have something new?"
Kit nodded.
"Who is he?"
"Santa Claus." Kit forked her index and middle finger on her pussy lips and slowly rolled them, as she had been doing before Myra arrived at the house. Quickly her clit stood up into the oily friction.
She ignored Myra, gazed at the Technicolor landscape and toyed with her cunt, not rising to orgasm, just simmering happily along, as the car raced over the milky white ribbon of highway, sweeping over hills and careening into the valleys beyond.
Myra at last wheeled the car into the parking lot of a fake log-cabin roadhouse.
Kit straightened, adjusting her skirt and using a big white comb on the dashboard to arrange her hair.
"Where are we?"
"You'll see.
They got out and Myra led her to the door of the place, which was marked, "Mona's Grill". Drawn curtains hid the view through the windows. But inside she got it instantly.
The joint was all female, two or three dozen woman customers, not a manin sight.
At the bar they were waited on by a butch-dyke wearing a shirt and black shoelace tie and a red vest. She was built like a fire hydrant.
"Myra!" she called. "Sweetie! Give me a kiss, baby."
Myra leaned over the bar and kissed her full on the mouth.
So that was how this place was, Kit thought, climbing onto the barstool, smiling politely when introduced to Mona herself, the bartender and proprietor, but not offering a kiss. Myra ordered drinks and stood beside Kit, man-style, an arm about her.
Soft music was playing. A few couples danced. In darkish booths around the walls, women in pairs sat close together, whispering in each other's ears, caressing, occasionally kissing.
Kit had never been in a lesbian place before. It was amusing and her turned-on state fitted the languorous female movements. She guessed that if a man strode brusquely in she would be startled.
They sipped their drinks in silence. Myra seemed to have drawn into herself, frowning, a muscle quirking in her jaw. Thinking of Don? Well, if she were basically lesbian, her marriage to him was pretty impossible.
Abruptly she asked, "Kit, do you want to dance?"