Sheila felt faint. She tried to imagine Melissa spread like that, in front of some photographer with a Hasselblad, and the trouble wasn’t that she could not picture it, but that she could. In vivid detail. HOT CHICKS magazine. She didn’t think she’d ever seen a copy. But maybe if she could find out which issue, one of the bookshops in Darien could dig up a copy from some back-numbers house…
“I used to do a lot of modeling, but the pay was so low—maybe five dollars or ten dollars an hour, and there’s so much competition. You work steady for a few months, and every photographer in LA has a bushel of pictures of you, and nobody needs you anymore, they want new girls, you know? I was washed up at eighteen. Boy —you are really good, you know that, Sheila? Looking at that picture, I can almost reach out and touch the girl, she’s so real, I’d like to pose for an artist, for somebody who could make me look that good.”
Sheila cleared her throat. She felt madness crawling through her veins. There was no history of insanity in the family, but she knew that she was on the verge of setting the precedent. She was so close to Melissa she could smell the salt water that still clung to the girl and, even more powerful, Melissa’s own natural body oils and odors. They were sweet, like rolling in a garden of fragrant flowers, and Sheila felt her head beginning to roll too. Her vision misted, as if heat shimmers were surrounding her on every side, and time after time she willed her nervous hand not to reach out, smooth the tangles from Melissa’s golden hair. The skin, oh, God, the skin. Smooth, tanned, little bubbles of water decorating it. Her hand twitched and she wanted to crawl under a rock, join a nunnery—oh, Jesus, not a nunnery —a monastery —a Trappist monastery —anything —to get away…
“You’re not interested in finding any new models, I guess,” Melissa went on. She shifted her weight from one leg to the other, back and forth, and her hips moved inside the towel that appeared to be her only garment. Sheila watched the rise and fall of those ripe haunches and she wanted to turn away, but she couldn’t will herself to do it. Not even when she remembered last night, the whorish way Melissa had responded to Lou on the beach. It couldn’t dim, couldn’t cheapen the passion that swelled inside Sheila, swelled and flamed for this tally, trampy little girl.
“I—uh, I don’t know,” Sheila heard herself saying. “I —maybe…”
Melissa turned, green eyes sparkling like emeralds. “I’d really dig modeling for you, I think. I mean, if you could make me look that good…”
“I” and “me” seemed to be her favorite words. Narcissistic, yes, and hedonistic, really, dumb, but God in heaven, so desirable…
Sheila took the portrait of Claire off the easel. She picked up a blank canvas board. It gave her something to do with her hands. “Are you gonna let me audition?” Melissa asked delightedly. “Oh, wow!” She hurried around, stood beyond the easel, golden hair glowing in the sunlight. “I guess you want to see how I look without my clothes, huh?” she added, and the towel dropped in a flurry at her feet.
She stood naked, tits lifting as she breathed, and Sheila began to moan while her eyes seemed to blur and mist and her fingers clenched tightly on the brush she held, so tightly that the brush handle snapped in two and both pieces fell to the ground. Melissa cupped her lush full tits from beneath, and she held them as if in offering. The nipples were pink and rigid, big round nipples with fat thick teats set squarely at their centers, and those nipples stared at Sheila like earnest pink eyes. Her legs were slightly parted, and the glorious puff of her shaven cunt was on full display. Sheila could see the reddish-pink of the crease, could even see the tiny inner lips framed in the slash, demure hints of the sweetness and pleasure that lurked a little deeper within.
“Stop it,” Sheila whispered. “For the love of Christ, stop it!”
Still cupping her tits, Melissa stepped a pace or two toward Sheila. “Don’t you want to paint me?” she asked, a stray wet lock of hair fallen across her smooth forehead, gold hair against gold skin. “Or would you rather fool around a little?” She let go of her tits and went around the easel. Sheila turned, and Melissa’s hand stretched out. Sheila took that hand in her own and, together, the two girls walked into the ankle-high grass that dotted the bluff overlooking the cove.
Melissa was short, and she had to stand on tiptoes to kiss Sheila, and when she did, her lush full tits rubbed arousal and invitation onto Sheila’s chest. Sheila moaned into, the mouth that covered her own and she embraced Melissa, hands racing down the girl’s bare body. She cupped Melissa’s buttocks, squeezed, marveled at the taut springy resilient flesh. Warm flesh, smooth flesh, still wet from the ocean. She pinched off tiny rolls of baby fat, felt them glide beneath her probing, seeking fingers. Melissa sighed and wriggled against Sheila, and it was a dream come true. God, it was only a dream! Sheila tried to tell herself. None of this was happening! A perky, frisky tongue slipped into Sheila’s mouth, played like a puppy, and Sheila knew that this was no dream sensation. It was real, dear Jesus, it was real and it was happening! To her! To Sheila Diane Ross! She clasped Melissa’s ass and ground her, body against the young blonde’s, giving full rein to her passion and lust.
They sank onto the grass, still kissing and touching. Sheila felt hands on her breasts, hands that caressed the outline of her tits through the loose shirt she wore, hands that wouldn’t be content with caresses, that had to slip inside. Her buttons loosened. Melissa’s fingers touched the bare trembling flesh of her tits. Her nipples were stiff and the young girl’s fingers found them in no time, began to squeeze the sensitive little tips in rhythmic, knowing fashion.
Melissa’s tongue retreated and she rolled over onto her back. Sheila moved up, taking the initiative. Her shirt came loose. She fought free of it, came down upon Melissa bare to the waist, and there was an electric shock as her naked tits came into contact with Melissa’s. Four stiff nipples, four eager tits. And a mouth that was only too willing to accept Sheila’s tongue, to suck it happily while lips and tits rubbed together and excitement roared like a blast furnace inside Sheila’s hungry body.
They came apart slowly. Sheila’s lips hurt, she’d kissed the girl with such intensity. She sat up, rubbing her mouth, looking at Melissa, wondering what all this meant. Melissa sat up too and she brushed Sheila’s nearest breast with the back of her hand. The nipple wobbled as she stroked it, and Sheila could hardly breathe.
Melissa was beaming with smiles. “Did you like that?” she asked. Sheila blushed. “Was it more fun than watching me and Lou last night?”
“What…”
“I saw you peeking out the window,” Melissa added, leaning in closer. She licked Sheila’s neck, and then her tongue glided down Sheila’s breast, onto the reddish peak of one nipple. She flicked it twice, then pulled it into her mouth and sucked. There could be no faking in the smooth, efficient action of her lips. She knew what she was doing and she enjoyed it. So did Sheila.
“Really,” Melissa said, lifting her face and looking into Sheila’s brown eyes, “I could tell the moment I first saw you. You don’t cover your emotions too well. When I closed the fridge door and you were standing there looking at me, well, you were eating me with your mind. And you didn’t take your eyes off me once last night, not even when your sister was crying her heart out. Do I turn you on?”