"With you?" Kit giggled.
"What's the matter with me? Why do you hate me all of a sudden?"
"Myra, don't get paranoid. I meant, it seems funny to dance with a woman. I haven't since I was about twelve and we girls did it to learn the steps."
"Please?"
Kit shrugged. She finished her drink and slipped off the barstool and let Myra take her to the meager space between tables and booths where others were dancing to syrupy-slow music. There Myra took the male role, right arm about Kit, left hand holding hers. They drifted together and Myra stepped into the music.
Kit's forehead touched the taller girl's cheek. They swayed and Myra's arm drew her close. She let herself curve against the other and soon found it pleasant. The drinks and pot had helped, of course. She slid her hand from Myra's shoulder up to her neck and caressed the nape under the flow of blonde hair.
They moved like that until the music ended. They waited in close, comfortable embrace for the next piece.
Myra whispered, "You do like me, don't you, Kit?"
She nodded, rubbing her cheek against the other girl's. "But don't expect a big involvement, Myra. It's pleasant. That's all. I have another life to live, complicated enough to suit me. Okay?"
Myra did not answer. Apparently she could not be that casual about it.
As the music started she asked, "Could we get rid of your bra? It makes your titties feel wrong, hard."
"You unfasten it."
Myra pinched the hooks free and it was a great deal pleasanter, their soft breasts rolling over each other. Kit's bra worked down and soon only dress material separated the raking points of their nipples. By then both of Kit's arms were twined about Myra's neck and she felt the pressure of a thigh against her pussy. Myra nuzzled her cheek, begging a kiss, and Kit turned, licking the girl's creamy lips, felt that sweet lesbian fluttering of lips and curling tongue tips.
They drew apart as the music ended. Kit sighed deeply, stood caressing the other's backside.
A girl appeared between them. Dark curls fitted closely as a cap about a pretty, sun-browned face. Violet eyes beamed at Kit. The newcomer was slender but plump breasts showed through a very thin blouse the color of her eyes.
She said, "Myra, introduce me to your yummy friend."
Myra looked daggers at her. But she said, "Kit, this is Grace.
Kit felt the girl's hand slide warmly up her arm. Her smile was brilliant.
She said, "Kit. The name fits you. Darling, could I-have a dance?."
"No!" Myra snapped.
Grace turned silkily to her. "Darling, don't be so wretchedly possessive. Besides, I have a stash of those little pink sticks you love so dearly."
Myra let the girl turn Kit away when the music started.
Kit soon found this was something else. Grace seemed to embrace her without touching, danced like a feather, flowed in and fitted to her as snugly as the clinging dress she was wearing.
As they drifted she thought of milkweed fluff blown on the wind. She closed her eyes and let herself go. Her hands were on Grace's shoulders, the girl's on her hips. Kit did not know who led and who followed. Damp, lips brushed her cheek. She turned, cupped her mouth on the other's and lost herself in a wobbly flow of honeyed lips and waving tongue tips. The kiss seemed natural, the thing to do. Shortly Grace's hands oozed up her body and caressed her tits. That too was expected, and welcome, silken strokings that raised her nipples to hard, throbbing projections.
Grace whispered, "I've taken a room upstairs."
"All right," Kit said.
Her eyes opened as they moved from the dance floor. She saw only Grace's brilliant smile and her violet eyes, which were long and slanty, so beautiful that Kit's gaze hung on them, enraptured. They entered a darkish hallway and climbed stairs, went into a room almost filled by a giant oval bed covered with apricot satin. There were lamps on small tables but no other furnishings. The rug seemed ankle deep. Kit toed off her sandals and squirmed her feet into the luxuriant nap.
Grace opened a table drawer and took out a pink cigarette and matches. She lit the stick and handed it to Kit.
Kit had sucked her lungs full when Myra appeared in the doorway, startling her. Recalling Myra's rages, she expected a scene but then saw a girl follow Myra in, holding her hand, a pretty, plump creature with soft brown hair. Kit handed the pot stick to Myra as a peace offering. Smiling, she accepted it and the four stood silently passing the hot cigarette about. The name of the brown-haired girl was Louise, someone told Kit. While dragging on the cigarette, Louise was caressing Myra's big tits.
Myra said, "This is good grass but I had better, Panama Red. My shitty husband burned it with lighter fluid."
Grace commented mildly, "What can you expect from a man but shit?"
Kit did not share their lesbian hatred of men but it helped draw them together into a frictionless community further lubricated by the pacifying marijuana. She watched Louise unzip the back of Myra's white dress. It fell, exposing those luscious big tits, the puffy aureoles and thick nipples that had reminded Kit of a cow's teats. Louise bent to them and sucked a breast.
Kit turned to Grace. The girl's transparent violet blouse did not reach her slacks, low-slung hip-huggers of dark velveteen. She caressed the bare, tanned flesh of her waist, warm, silky flesh, then slipped her hand up under the blouse and cupped it on the firmest, roundest tit of her experience.
Grace dragged on the pot stick, smiling as she watched Kit toy with her breasts, then gazed at Myra, who now held a big tit in her hand and pushed it into Louise's yawning mouth.
Kit thumbed the girl's dark tit points to stiff-rubber pegs. Grace vined against her, nuzzling her cheek. Kit watched her fingers wave about under the blouse, following the rounds of tit. She became aware that she had entered the time-lag phase of the narcotic. For a minute or an hour she toyed with the firm globes, then slowly-or perhaps rapidly-stroked down her belly, fingered her deep navel dimple, found her zipper and shoved it down, exposing violet panties, the centerline ridged by a narrow band of dark hair.
She fingered the panty crotch. It was surprisingly dry.
She told Grace that.
The girl whispered, "I don't get steamy until there's tongue in my slit."
Kit's mouth watered as she gazed at the plump little lips between her fingers.
They were nude and Grace lay passively sprawled on the bed, waiting. Kit crouched over her, studying the dark-pointed tits and narrow pubic pelt. The hair was thick enough to be dark only on the mid-line of Grace's mound and on her cunt lips, which were still closed and hidden by the hair furrows. Curiously, Kit was the aggressor. The other stared at her dangling tits and wet snatch but made no move to touch her.
Kit lowered and lipped the sharp nipples. Hard. She sucked them and the small aureole circles, heard Grace moan softly and felt her squirm, but she remained inert as Kit kissed down her soft belly to her silky mound bush.
The smell of cunt was mild, almost hidden by a woodsy perfume. Grace's legs spread and yet her twat lips clung firmly together until Kit thumbed them apart, and in the narrow slit saw a glimmer of juice.
She tongued in between the hairy gates of the girl's cunt.
Grace's reaction was violent. Her hips gave a jerk and her legs heaved up, her heels falling on Kit's back, digging into her flesh.
"Sweetheart!" she cried. "That's it, lap my cunt!"
Kit's tongue swabbed up and down. Magically, the girl's pussy lips swelled out, forming a glistening teardrop-shaped trough, soon as sloshy as Kit could desire. Her clitoral hood drew upward exposing a pink bubble that grew immensely under Kit's sucking kisses. Soon she was Upping and licking a clitoris that seemed a match for Myra's. Did sucking enlarge clits? Or did the narcotic allow her to mentally transform flesh to fit her desires?