This is a story I wrote on the fly, everything kind of `happens' as it goes along, if you know what I mean. So here it is. But before we read on let me remind you all who were kind enough to choose to read this -- I have other fictions on Nifty. So if you don't like Lost and Karmic, give those a try. All right! Onward!
Legends of Asgarth
Smells Like Sapphic Spirit
The Misadventures of Anna
The Misadventures of Kandi
The Misadventures of Holly-Raine
Those Who Live Between Reason and Emotion
"...Oh God... Brooke, don't..."
Have you ever desired someone so much that you just couldn't control yourself when you were around them anymore? Things could move so swiftly around in a single person's mind. And an urge could manifest itself faster than the consciousness could deal with it, if it was strong enough. Brooke felt the force of that for the first time in her teenage life. She felt it all: the rush, the passion, the hunger, and the churning of the momentum in her stomach. But most of all it was the sightless lust that got to her -- and the frustration that came with the months of constantly holding it back. The errant cogency of the combination blinded her. It was these things that brought Brooke to this outcome. But she was so utterly intoxicated by her feelings for this girl, this goddess-crafted-teen, that she just couldn't recognize what she was doing.
Her name was Amanda Winters.
Brooke's heartbeat raced as she leered over her and her angelic beauty. Everything about Amanda had her captivated. Her elongated red hair splayed about her head like a halo, her soft creamy skin dotted with beats of sweat, her sparkling blue eyes shaking with nervousness, her freckled button nose struggling to keep up with her heavy intake of breath, her tiny little breasts heaving beneath her tee shirt; everything. Yet though the look Brooke gave Amanda was of lust -- the look that Amanda gave Brooke was a frightened defiance.
Amanda squirmed and sobbed as Brooke pinned her hands either side of her head. The older girl had straddled her by the hips and wouldn't budge. Amanda tried with all manner of effort to wrestle herself free; her bare feet had already messed up the linen at the bottom of her bed... but to no avail. Her breathing was heavy from the effort she put into getting loose. It made her exquisite throat and chest bob in the way that did nothing but arouse Brooke more. And Brooke lowered her head to hover over Amanda's quivering and moist lips to say lustily, "I want you so bad..."
Moments later she smothered Amanda's mouth in a kiss so powerful neither girl realized how much it rocked them. As Brooke forced her lips against those of the younger girl, she projected moans that mingled with Amanda's whimpers. The redhead could only lay back with her eyes tightly shut and sob as she was consumed by the lust of another. Then suddenly she felt Brooke's tongue prise open her lips. Amanda's eyes cracked open when Brooke plunged her lengthy and wet tongue down her throat. Her hands, pinned against the bed by Brooke's, clenched into fists. Her little toes curled up and clenched at the bed sheets as her feet arched. Her face moved with Brooke's when she tilted to the side and flicked at her tongue.
Whilst kissing and thrusting into Amanda's mouth, Brooke's hips began an unintentional humping over the younger teen's abdomen via her hips, a small gliding motion up and down. But as Brooke was only wearing a loose shirt over her lower body, the action pressed the damp patch of her yellow panties into Amanda's taut abdominal flesh. The redhead continued only to whimper whilst feeling both Brooke's humping of her and also the smearing of Brooke's warm vaginal juices over her stomach.
It was only after a few moments of that humping that Brooke lazily dragged her tongue out of a breathless Amanda's mouth. She maintained the position, with her hips and crotch stroking Amanda's stomach whilst keeping the redhead's tiny wrists restrained to the bed. At that point both girls gasped for air. Amanda looked up into Brooke's dark brown eyes with a pleading frown, but she saw only Brooke's defiant longing, her expression contorted with an inexplicable animal lust... and for perhaps only the briefest and most intense of moments, Amanda was transfixed by it. She had absolutely no idea that Brooke wanted her this badly.
Brooke, shoulders rushing up and down as she breathed in, continued to intricately study the beautiful nubile teen beneath her. Even in a situation like this she was staggeringly attractive. Amanda's thin eyebrows had curved upward in her desperation and the shared saliva from their prolonged kiss was tricking down from the right corner of her mouth. Her cheeks were flushed a deep red from her blushing. It seemed like everything the redheaded girl did or said turned Brooke on at this point -- even her reluctance.
Yet it wasn't long before Amanda once again found her voice.
"B-Brooke..." Amanda struggled to catch her breath. "Brooke, please... please don't do this... I'm with Vicki... I'm her girlfriend..."
Once again one emotion within Brooke was blindsided by another. This time lust that was put aside for anger. "...She doesn't deserve you! And you want this too, `Mandy...! I know that you do...!"
Amanda looked away. But she didn't deny it. "...I can't do this..."
Then anger gave way to a protracted fusion between lust and frustration. Brooke dragged both of Amanda's wrists to the pillow and held them down there with a single hand. A gasp escaped from Amanda's throat when Brooke used her free hand to pull open her buttoned white top. A few of those buttons popped off and Amanda squealed with alarm as her small left breast was brought out into the open. It rose and fell with Amanda's intake of breath. Brooke had always loved Amanda's breasts. They were so small and pretty for a sixteen-year-old. She had lost count of the amount of times she had found herself ogling them longingly every time they ever hung out.
Amanda lifted her head up and gauged the older girl's reaction. Brooke stared at it for a moment, admiring its cuteness, before dropping her head toward it.
Amanda's eyes widened. "Don't...!"
As soon as she had voiced that, Brooke moaned, and wrapped her thin lips around the rigidly erect pink nipple. Amanda cried out. Her face twisted with a confused mix of discomfort and pleasure. Her head dropped back onto the pillow as Brooke began suckling at her. The motion was so swift and so vigorous that when Brooke freed her wrists, Amanda committed no movement. She only laid back and sobbed while Brooke sucked her stiff nipple. And Brooke knew what she was doing. She opened her eyes and watched Amanda's reaction to it. She arched her back when Brooke sucked it. She bit her lower lip when Brooke dragged her tongue around it. And she cried out when Brooke tenderly bit down upon it.
The room was suddenly filled with the sound of Brooke's sucking, licking and biting of Amanda's swollen-to-rigidity left nipple, and those sounds were joined with by the moans of both girls. Amanda kept her eyes squeezed shut while her small hands grabbed the sheets underneath them into her fists. With her cheek rested on one side over the pillow, her open mouth blurted involuntary gasps, sighs and moans. Slowly Brooke disengaged herself from that pink nub and leaned up. A thin line of saliva linked the tip of it to Brooke's lips. And its pink flesh now glistened with her oral wetness. Amanda's body went limp and stared off to her right. She was almost completely oblivious as Brooke started to unbutton the rest of her top and pull it out from under her. She managed to see it fall onto her carpet when Brooke tossed it away. Her breasts were completely exposed. But she didn't regain focus until Brooke clasped her by the cheek and turned her head to that they looked into each other's eyes again.
Her other hand ran itself up and down Amanda's body, caressing her lengthy legs and cupping at her tiny breasts, relishing their softness. In moments Brooke's face descended toward Amanda's for yet another kiss. The smaller woman pushed her hands up against her shoulders and weakly whispered the word `no' to her. Brooke answered that by grasping her wrists again and pushing them back onto the bed.
When Brooke forced their mouths together Amanda's protests were muffled. That very overpowering feeling once more overtook her and rushed through her like a torrent. When Amanda's back arched at that feeling, her unguarded mounds rose into the fabric of Brooke's summer top, pressing their breasts together. Both women moaned at it in their kiss. Brooke reached down with a sole hand and pinched Amanda's right nipple. Her eyes squeezed shut and she whimpered impotently between Brooke's lips. By that point Amanda felt a two-fold powerlessness -- one to resist and the other to want to resist.
But she soon regained her will to the latter when Brooke's freed hand slowly slid down from her breasts, over her stomach and toward the junction between her hips. Alarm bells finally rang in the instant that Brooke's fingertips inched their way underneath her jeans shorts and the band of her white panties.
Summoning every ounce of strength she had, Amanda broke their kiss and swung her hand around to deliver the hardest slap she'd ever known herself capable of producing. The smack of it rang out in Amanda's bedroom and Brooke recoiled instantaneously. One girl clamoured off the other in her shock. Amanda and Brooke immediately drew in breath as they finally parted. The redheaded one quickly covered up her chest with her right arm, her left nipple still dripping with Brooke's drool.
When that stinging pain finally hit Brooke's face, she realized what she was doing. She'd snapped out of it... but it was too little too late. She stared in horror at the thing she most disliked, the sight of tears forming in her `Mandy's sky blue eyes.
Brooke pressed her hand against her now reddening cheek but was totally focused on Amanda and what she had just done to her. "...`Mandy..."
The first tear dropped. "...Get out..."
"...Amanda, I'm... I'm so sorry, I... I don't know what came over me-"
"I said get out!"
She didn't wait after that. Brooke quickly climbed off of Amanda's bed, grabbed her coat and skirt and bolted for the door. When it slammed shut she immediately heard Amanda burst into tears. That alone made Brooke unaware of her own tears. She ran down the stairs of the house and jogged for the door, not even stopping to say goodbye to Hannah's mother, Ellie, before she left. Once out into the open she ran as hard as her legs could take her down the streets of that suburban area before collapsing in sobs next to a lamppost. Brooke slid down against it and cried for all her worth, completely stunned by what her feelings had allowed her to do.
A smart mind could rationally justify it as another Freudian super battle between the Id and the Superego -- only this time the Id had won with a perfect knockout blow. Muhammad Ali himself would have been proud. And in a flash it occurred to Brooke that her actions had lost her not only the love of her life but also her best friend -- her only friend. With sweeping thoughts she wondered, `how did it even come to this?'
Six months prior to that day, there was actually once a time when Amanda Winters did not occupy every thought Brooke had every waking minute. A simpler time when she simply didn't know that such a glorious woman existed. Back then the only real issue that took centrality in the forum with her was her own sexuality. She had known she didn't feel the same way as other girls did about boys roughly the same time she turned eleven. Everyone else gassed on and on about what guys they liked in school or on TV and in movies. It didn't take much for Brooke to realize that all the Jude Laws, Tom Cruises and Denzel Washingtons of the world couldn't so much as tug a string in her heart. And like all little girls who didn't know what that meant -- Brooke kept it all bottled up inside herself. Those feelings continued into later years until she reached the age of sixteen and hadn't had the pleasure of hugging, kissing or holding hands with a significant other. And by the age of sixteen other people had started to ask questions about that.
Brooke didn't have the bad luck of being `guessed out' however. She was too pretty for that. As stupid as it was, the natural consensus of the kids at her high school, Winnicot High, was that a half-decent looking woman who didn't score herself a guy was just a late bloomer. You didn't get the standard `she's a dyke' panic unless you said or did something to quite frank to suggest it. It was different for boys, though. Typical jock policy -- if you aren't scoring with a girl then you're a big old quiche cooking, hairdressing, Will and Grace-loving fag. Brooke couldn't count the amount of times she'd seen a bunch of jocks kicking the living shit of a guy they deemed gay. Fortunately she had been spared that fate.
But the cost was living out her life in a little pocket of the world where no one really knew her, or what she was feeling. No one cared that she was alone. No one cared that she'd rather sleep with Angelina than Brad. No one even understood her -- or at least that was the way Brooke had felt at the time. But that changed on one cold March day when she joined a new class at Winnicot High; Philosophical Studies. Realistically speaking Brooke wasn't that great at school but she wasn't dumb either. She was just another common slightly above average student who didn't push herself too hard or do too little. Karen Leigh Williams (who was by far the hottest teacher in school) had suggested the philosophical studies class to her as a means toward extra credit. College was a thought in the future not too far away -- and at the time Brooke had thought of it as being the only opening for her urges toward other women -- she could be honest and open with people about her sexuality in college, right? It was that thought that made her stretch for the extra credits. And though the class in itself wasn't a big help, it was the girl she'd meet while attending that class who was to create an impact in her life... and eventually put her on the road toward Amanda.
That day Brooke had taken a seat behind a desk at the back of the room in the hopes that the teacher running the class, Mr. Ostrowski, wouldn't call on her. There were about thirty-eight people in the class, which was a fairly big number for an after school class, so she did go through most of the lesson without hassle. Brooke kept her mouth shut and let other people tackle the philosophical debates (which were surprisingly more grounded than that stereotypical `what is the meaning of life' bullshit). And she didn't pay very much attention until Mr. Ostrowski brought to the class a mention of a certain 19th century philosopher called Friedrich Nietzsche. Brooke didn't really pay attention to what was specifically said about him but someone in the class brought up a famous quote of his that went something like, "There are no moral phenomena, only a moral interpretation of phenomena."
Then Mr. Ostrowski went on to question the class about what they thought that statement might mean. Not a lot of people were stumped about it because the blunt answer was pretty obvious. A chorus of accepting sniggers filled the classroom when some guy at the front row of the desks said, "It means we can do whatever the fuck we want!"
Of course Mr. Ostrowski was the only teacher who didn't mind kids swearing in his class so that went un-chided. Just a few moments after that though, a significant girl in the third row down put down her interpretation of the quote in an ashy voice that immediately caught Brooke's attention with its confidence,
"Actually," That girl began. "I get a little more out of it than that. It doesn't just mean `I can do whatever the fuck I want'. It can mean all kinds of crap to all kinds of people. A Muslim or a Jew or a Christian might hear that and think Nietzsche's telling people to be selfish. A postmodernist might hear that and take it as another example of cultural fragmentation -- in this case the screwing up of faith. You might even look at it as an attack on association. But those kinda people always miss the big point underneath it."
Mr. Ostrowski crossed his arms and leaned back in the front table. "Which is?"
"That any understanding that someone makes of something else has some kind of want in its foundation," She claimed. "It doesn't matter that we can `do what we want'. We already know that. What matters is what a dude wants out of seeing something in a certain way. You get it? Christianity might sit down and say to a man that it's `wrong' to have more than one wife -- but there's something that it gets out of saying that. For example, it could be that that part of the dogma just wants keep women under the thumb. In that way no one can be neutral. So basically an interpretation of something isn't intrinsic to what it is -- it's just a way of expressing what you think something's nature is. And if you wanna take this thing a little further and say that interpreting things is something everyone does... then you might even argue that the human view of the world is essentially hypocritical since no one can be objective."
The more vocal people in class all started chiming on that woman to disprove it. She just sat back and grinned, as they got so riled up about it that they went out of their way to point out the flaws in the argument. To Brooke practically everything she had just said went right over her head. But she took note of that girl.
She would come to know that that girl's name was Victoria `Vicki' Valentine.
Vicki was the archetypal anomaly of Generation Y. She always wore sheared jeans and tee shirts with the phrase `Alice in Chains' on the back (only at a later date was Brooke to find out that that wasn't some weird S & M show but rather a 90's grunge band). Her smooth black hair was cut short but the bangs lulling over her forehead were kept quite long, three tufts of which she had dyed pink. Vicki was what some people might describe as a cultural rebel. You know the type. A gorgeous bitch that she didn't give a shit and yet was as intelligent as she was provocative. But she wasn't just some average punk wannabe -- Vicki didn't try to be anything she wasn't or act in a way that didn't suit her. At that moment, in that classroom, Brooke witnessed a kind of frank forthrightness in this girl called Vicki that she desperately wanted for herself. In that respect alone Vicki entranced her.
Brooke honestly couldn't pay attention to what was said in class after that because she didn't understand any of it. But she made sure to watch every time Vicki said something. She reeked of self-assurance and had smart-alecky disposition about her that allowed every forceful refutation of her opinion roll off her back like so much hot water in a shower. Soon Brooke could do nothing BUT stare at her, completely in the dark about whether anyone would or would not notice. Then towards the end of the session, when Vicki had turned around to look at some boy who was criticizing Kant's view of the noumenal, they locked eyes for a prolonged moment. Brooke's dark brown eyes were caught by the probing gaze of Vicki's light green ones and neither girl tried to look away. That was until Vicki pulled a sly grin and winked. Brooke's cheeks flushed almost immediately and she dropped the eye contact. There were at least three rows worth of kids between them and yet Vicki didn't even seem to care that someone might have seen her do that.
Until the class was over Brooke kept her head down and dared not look at Vicki again. And as far as the debate went Vicki kept quite. Then when Mr. Ostrowski called the class to an end, Brooke nearly tossed her notebook and pen into her bag and bolted from her desk to the door. Once out in the now quiet halls of Winnicot High she headed into the girl's toilets to whizz. And when Brooke entered one of the stalls and did her business she came back out and trotted to the sink to wash her hands. One hand twisted the tap to pour out water while the other took the backpack off her shoulders. Whilst she got some soap from the dispenser and started rinsing her hands, an ashy voice spoke to her from behind,
"You were watching me, weren't you?"
Brooke gasped and turned around, splashing water into the air. On the other side of the toilets was Vicki. She had a smirk on her face that Brooke would one day come to be very familiar with -- the smirk a person had when they knew something you didn't. In her shock Brooke fumbled for a hand towel to dry her hands.
"I...I-I don't know what you're talking about..." She replied.
Vicki sniggered derisively. "Oh you don't know? Or is it that you don't want me to know?"
She didn't immediately say anything in reply. Brooke just finished wiping her hands and then picked up her bag. Then just as she walked to the exit Vicki stepped in front of her.
Now Brooke actually started to get a little nervous. "...Look, I just wanna go home, okay?"
Vicki answered that by shoving Brooke into the wall of the cubicle. She yelped when her back hit the stall wall and dropped her backpack. Yet before she could even protest, Vicki grabbed her by the wrists, pressed both of them against the wall, and leered confidently over a stunned Brooke. They locked eyes again just like they did when they saw each other in the philosophical studies class. Vicki pulled an aggressive smile and pushed herself against Brooke's body, sandwiching the teen between her breasts and the wall. Their faces hovered a slight few centimetres from each other, with Brooke feeling Vicki's cool and excited breath against lips. There was a slight paused before the Vicki whispered, "Do you have any idea how hot you look when you blush?"
Vicki forced her tongue down Brooke's throat the following second. Her startled groan was muffled by the kiss. Brooke stood numb and wide eyed as she experience her first kiss in an instant. And an explosive kiss it was. She didn't recognize how it had even gotten to this at that point. But in the few moments of the shock, in the few moments of experiencing Vicki kiss her with such reckless abandon; Brooke couldn't contain herself. She quickly began returning it with equal passion, shutting her eyes and moaning into Vicki's warm mouth. Her head tilted to the left as their tongues played together within their conjoined lips. Then a stronger moan reverberated when Vicki pushed her right thigh between Brooke's lithe legs. It hiked up her green skirt when Vicki slowly and methodically ran that thigh up and down Brooke's panty-concealed crotch. Even through the denim of her jeans and the cotton of the panties, Vicki felt a growing wetness. She giggled into their kiss like it was some kind of victory and then parted from her. Brooke gasped when the kiss was broken so abruptly. She was left breathless, confused, disoriented and horny, while Vicki merely smiled and withdrew her thigh from Brooke's hips.
"W-why did you stop...?" Stammered Brooke.
Vicki pulled a knowing smile. "One step at a time."
"...I... I don't get it..."
She turned to the door. "C'mon. I know a little place."
A sensible person probably would have turned down the offer for no other reason than that Vicki had started something she didn't have the kindness to finish -- the kind of thing a guy would have perhaps called a `mind game'. But a single kiss had opened up a whole new world of emotions and each one was guiding her toward this girl. So Brooke weakly returned her backpack to her shoulders and followed Vicki's lead. They left the toilets and went out into the corridor. Brooke and Vicki strode down it and left through Winnicot High's front doors. The philosophical studies class was nearly two hours long so by the time they were outside it was pitch black. Nevertheless Vicki led Brooke across the street to the opposing sidewalk. They strode down its length and turned a left at a crossroad, which brought them to a high street. There was a little diner at the far corner. They walked inside and Vicki pointed out one of the left most tables near the window. Brooke sat down slowly on one side while Vicki casually parked herself across from her.
There was a maintained silence between them. And yet Vicki couldn't so much as wipe that all-knowing smirk off her face. For Brooke it was different. All kinds of thoughts swam around in her head that she couldn't make sense of. First and foremost was; what was she even doing here? Was this `thing' going somewhere? If it was then why did Vicki stop kissing her? And if it wasn't then why bother bring her here? There were other things pervading her thoughts too. Like what that kiss actually meant for HER. Her attraction to other women was the cause of her solitude and distance from others. But in a way it was her personal space, a kind of microcosm that at that point had remained sealed to all but herself. Yet it had been invaded and shattered by someone she'd never even had a proper conversation with. Everything was changing at a speed Brooke never would have imagined possible and all from one single kiss.
When she looked into Vicki's eyes, Brooke could see the smug understanding in them. If she wasn't aware of the strength of the impression she had made then she was at least aware of the fact that she'd made one. The cocky yet beautiful sneer Vicki had on her made that all too clear.
"You're not talking much," Asserted Vicki. "We can speak here. It's pretty empty and we don't need secrets between us. It's pretty hard to keep things from someone you've played tonsil hockey with, right?"
Brooke exhaled. "I'm just a little... confused."
"About you. About what happened back there. Everything."
Vicki leaned back and shut her eyes. "What's there to be confused about? You're hot, you were checking me out, I was horny, and then we kissed. End of story."
"...How can you be so cut and dry about it...?"
The taller Vicki pulled another grin as she stretched her arms out luxuriously across the red leather of the seat. "...Is it the commercial break that's bugging you? Well I'm sorry but I don't push too hard with virgins, especially ones as cute as you."
Brooke blinked. "How do you know I'm a...?"
"Instinct, I guess. Or maybe it's intuition. You didn't kiss me like someone with a casual sex life would have done. You kissed me like someone crying out to be touched."
Right from the beginning Brooke could see that Vicki was a lot more insightful than your average sixteen-year-old was. But at this point Brooke couldn't say that she liked it. It made her feel quite naked and transparent, like Vicki understood her better than she understood herself. But while they sat there a middle-aged waitress walked up to their table with a tiny notepad in her hand.
"All right girls," She first looked at Vicki. "What can I get ya?"
Without looking at the menu Vicki replied, "I'll have an order of chilli fries and a glass of mineral water, no ice."
"And for your friend?" The waitress said, turning to Brooke.
"...I... I'm not hungry."
Vicki frowned at that and declared, "She'll have a diet coke, no ice."
Brooke glared irritably at her for that. Vicki merely smirked it off. The waitress wrote down the order and strode off to take orders from another table across the diner. When Vicki glanced at Brooke and saw that she was still annoyed, she shrugged. "What's the big deal? I'm paying for it."
"I don't need you ordering things for me like some overprotective boyfriend."
"Think of it as a thank you for giving me more of a reason to sit in a classroom with all those dumbass Descartes-wannabes."
Brooke narrowed her eyes. "I don't even know what that means. What's your angle?"
"Weren't you listening in class? Everyone has an angle."
"Stop fucking with me!" By now Brooke really was getting annoyed. "You kissed me back there! Why did you kiss me?"
Vicki didn't say a word in reply but rather responded with action. She tugged another smirk onto her face and kicked her left shoe off under the table. Then she pulled off her sock with the right shoe. And Brooke went rigid when Vicki touched her ankle with her toe. She sensually brought it up the length of Brooke's leg, from the ankle up to the thigh, then between the hips. Brooke bit her lip to stifle her moans of arousal when Vicki caressed her labia through the damp cotton of her panties. The know-it-all smile on Brooke's temptress widened the more Brooke reacted to her ministrations.
"...I kissed you because you needed it," Vicki said as she stroked at Brooke's nether region with her big toe. "I'm only sixteen but I've slept with enough women to know when one wants me. And I didn't want to push you too far until I knew you were willing to go all the way. Now I know that you are."
Brooke was breathless. She shut one of her eyes and tightened her hands into fists as the steady pleasure of Vicki's tidy stroking of her. Yet she held on to enough of her senses to reply to that. "How... how do you... even know I'm interested...?"
"You wouldn't have come here with me if you weren't," Commented Vicki. "And then there's the most obvious reason."
Brooke hung on for that reason expectantly.
"I don't see you taking my foot off your pussy."
She couldn't deny how good it felt. Brooke's back arched while Vicki continued to wag her toe up and down her panties. She glanced around briefly to make sure no one could see or hear them -- and no one appeared to. When it seemed to Vicki that Brooke's checking for witnesses was a loss of attention she increased the pressure of her strokes. And Brooke whimpered softly at the pleasure. She shut both of her eyes and clenched her fists even tighter to prevent herself from reaching under her blouse and plucking at her stiff nipples. And Vicki sat back in her seat and grinned proudly at the effect she was having on Brooke. There was a kind of sensitivity in virgins that you just couldn't get anywhere else. To Vicki it was the ultimate turn-on. Her vaginal fluids were already dripping in her underwear at the sight of it.
Brooke controlled her breathing as Vicki continued the motions. But when she opened her eyes again she saw the waitress standing by the counter. A man her own age was handing her a tray with a basket of chilli fries, a bottle of coke, and glass of water. Brooke glanced pleadingly at Vicki. "She's gonna come..."
Vicki grinned that same damn grin at her. "I hope she does..."
"N-no, the waitress," Brooke willed herself to keep control. "...She's coming..."
At last Vicki's smile fell when she peaked out of the corner of her eye to see if Brooke was right. She was. As the waitress headed their way with the tray, she pulled her foot out of Brooke's hips and sat up straight. Brooke herself, with her cheeks glowing deep rouge, her breathing erratic and her heartbeat racing, pulled her pea green skirt back down her legs and smoothed it out.
The waitress was there a few seconds later.
"Here you go, girls," She put the chilli fries and the glass of water in front of Vicki, and then placed the diet coke by Brooke. But when she looked at the flustered girl she gave her a concerned frown. "Are you all right there, Honey? Your cheeks are all flushed."
Brooke swallowed the lump in her throat. "I... I'm fine."
"Oh. Okay. Well wrap up warm, just in case. It's cold out tonight," Said the waitress before she trundled off to buss some other tables.
Vicki started chuckled when she did. "Bet you could use a drink now, huh?"
Brooke beamed a grudging smile. "...You're such a bitch."
"Well, despite that, I have a real name," She commented between bites of a chilli fry. "And if I'm not mistaken then you do too. I think this is the part of the movie when we exchange them."
"...I haven't told you my name yet?"
Another bite. "Indubitably."
"...It's Brooke. Brooke Miller."
Vicki ate another chilli fry. "...Pretty. My name's Victoria Valentine, but I prefer it when people call me Vicki, okay? So please feel obligated to do so."
And that was how Brooke met Vicki.
"The path of the righteous man is beset on all side by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who in the name of charity and goodwill; shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger, those, who attempt to poison and destroy My brothers! And you will know My is the Lord... when I lay My vengeance upon thee!"
The DVD had only reached the scene where Jules shot dead Brett (the one right after that whole debate between Jules and Vincent about foot massages) but she was already relaxing to it.
Brooke loved Pulp Fiction.
It was one of those weird movies that just never got old no matter how many times you sat and watched it. Needless to say she was a bit of a movie buff. It also had a soothing effect on her. She sat in her bed, wrapped up in the white and black chequered sheets with a bucket of rum and raisin ice cream in one hand and a stainless steel tablespoon in the other. The lights were off and the TV flickered a little bit of illumination on her and her furniture because of that. Though she only did this when she was unhappy, watching her favourite movies and eating ice cream in her underwear, at this point in time Brooke was merely anxious.
She glanced at her watch and saw the time, 10:15. Vicki was supposed to have rung her by now. That was the call she was waiting for and that was why she was anxious. Two weeks worth of sand had now passed through the egg timer since the night of Brooke's second philosophical studies class. Two weeks had passed since she met Victoria `Vicki' Valentine. Though they went to the same school and were in the same grade, they were in different classes. Essentially they saw very little of each other inside Winnicot High's grounds but she was working on changing that. Since meeting each other that night, Brooke and Vicki had been exchanging calls. There were no pretences in these calls or in the meetings that they inevitably led to. They both wanted something. Brooke wanted a taste of the world that Vicki was opening up for her. Vicki simply wanted a taste of Brooke.
They hadn't fucked yet -- though Brooke was deeply ready for it -- thus far they had only made out. `Seasoning' was what Vicki called it. Yet today Brooke felt like it would be the night. And that was why she was watching Pulp Fiction -- to make sure she didn't go crazy waiting for it.
By the time that the movie got to the scene where Butch and Vincent have their little disagreement at the bar, Brooke's cell phone beeped its little ER-theme ringtone. She quickly snatched the bitch from her oak coffee table and flipped it open. "Hello?"
Brooke pulled a lusty grin. "I knew you'd call."
"So whatcha doing?" Vicki asked.
"Watching a movie?"
"Does it have a name...?"
She put down her tub of ice cream. "Pulp Fiction."
"Oh, a Tarantino flick. Where you up to?"
Instead of answering that Brooke pushed the phone in the direction of her television screen. It had reached the part when Butch and Vincent were glaring at each other by the bar counter. Then Marcellus shouts in the background "Vincent Vega's in the house? My nigger. Get your ass over here."
Vicki registered fast. "Yeah, I know that part. It's a cool movie. Wouldn't you like, totally fuck Mia Wallace?"
"I'd rather fuck you."
"Well you're certainly candid today. Wanna come over? It's no Jack Rabbit Slim's, but..."
Brooke giggled with anticipation. "Only if I get something out of it..."
"I'm no wood nymph but I think I can cook something up. Be here by time the little hand hits the eleven and big hand hits the twelve. That's like forty minutes, okay?"
"Yeah. Can't wait."
Vicki switched off on the other end. And that was the ticket Brooke had been waiting for. She flipped her phone closed and pulled the sheets off of her young body. By this time the movie had reached that scene where Vincent was buying heroin from Lance. She ejected the disk from her DVD player and turned off the television before getting some clothes out. Though Brooke was no fashion mule, she had a mother who was, and incidentally that mother (whose name, for the record, was Beatrix -- no Kiddo included) had a hand in helping her pick out what clothes did or did not look good on a sixteen-year-old teenage woman. In the end what Brooke did select was a small black skirt and leather ebony boots. That came along with a white tank top, which had a little pink love heart on it, and a black leather mini-jacket. Before she got dressed she took a quick shower and then painted both her fingernails and toenails with a lavender nail polish. Then she garbed herself in the clothing she'd picked out, put on the silver choker necklace that her Uncle had given to her as a birthday present three years ago, and grabbed her purse. Brooke checked it to make sure she had everything she needed (cell phone, cash purse with sixty bucks worth of tens plus some spare change, and her keys). Everything was there.
Brooke exited her bedroom, marched down the stairs on the heels of her boots, and then passed by the living room on her way out. Her Mom and Dad had fallen asleep on the couch and were all snuggled up together. She couldn't leave without telling them in some way that she was going to -- so she went into the kitchen and tore off a sheet of paper from the notepad hanging on the wall beside the phone. Then she took the pen on the table in the corridor and wrote a note that professed the following,
She put the note on her Dad's lap and headed for the door. A rush of cool wind hit Brooke upon stepping outside. She wrapped her arms as best as she could around herself and walked down the steps of her stoop. After waiting until the road was clear, Brooke crossed over and headed for the bus stop two minutes down the street. There was an old woman sitting on the thin plastic seats of the little bus shelter. She took one look at Brooke and shook her head disapprovingly.
"You're going to catch your death of cold dressed like that," She said in a crotchety voice.
Brooke rolled her eyes but tried to be polite. "...I think I'm fine, Ma'am."
She felt awkward waiting for the bus after that. It reminded her of how much she wanted to drive. Eight and a half minutes later though, it came. She paid her fare, received her little ticket and sat down next to an overweight Mexican with his nose in a newspaper. The ride was quick though, as Vicki's apartment was only a few blocks away (it would have been possible to just walk down there but Brooke wasn't wearing walking heels and she didn't like roaming around at night). When she reached the right stop Brooke got off the bus and was left beside the road leading into a residential cul-de-sac. On the opposing street there were a series of apartment buildings. She identified the one that Vicki lived in, sought out its lobby, then its elevator, and took it all the way up to the sixteenth floor. From that floor's balcony she got a wonderful view of the city of Minneapolis but it was hardly the most pressing issue on her mind.
She went to Vicki's door, #98, and pressed the bell.
Three seconds subsequent to that she heard Vicki shout `will you two knock it off' behind the door. When it opened, Vicki's expression transformed from mildly irritated to very appreciative, all from seeing Brooke and the way she was dressed.
That trademark grin of hers appeared. "...Namaste."
"Can I come in?"
Vicki made way by stepping aside. Brooke walked in and took off her jacket while Vicki closed the door behind her. Yet the very first thing she noticed when she walked in was a disharmonic chorale of moans and giggling. Vicki exhaled and whispered `follow me' to her. She subsequently led Brooke into her lounge. And what Brooke saw there she was staggered by.
Two sixteen-year-old girls, one of them black and the other Asian, were steamily making out on one of the three leather sofas of the room. The Asian girl was laid back on the couch with her head against the armrest. She mindlessly mixed giggles and moans into the mouth of the black girl, who was mounting her from the waist and deeply caressing the Asian girl's substantial breasts as they kissed. Though they were passionate about what they were doing, it was also kind of clumsy and laidback.
Brooke went wide-eyed while Vicki sighed and explained, "The illustrious Asian girl in the uke position is Amy. And the bootylicious black girl in the seme position is Carmen. But just try to ignore `em."
She did that by glancing at the glass table in the centre of the room. But when she did look at it Brooke saw a few things she didn't expect. One was a blue vibrator that was slathered with a coating of drying pussy liquor. The second was a half-empty bottle of vodka. But the third and most disturbing was a small piece of tinfoil with white powder on top of it, laid out next to a lighter. Now the clumsy, spaced-out way Carmen and Amy were going down on each other made more sense.
Brooke frowned. "...I didn't know you did coke."
"I don't," Vicki corrected. "But they do. And they needed a place to do it. And since they're my friends I let them do it here. They just didn't tell me they also be turning my apartment into a goddamned make-out spot."
"What about your parents?" Brooke asked.
Vicki fluffed her dyed-pink bangs. "My Mom's a politician so I don't see her very often. She only comes home every few months."
"And what about your Dad?"
"He's in Iraq," Vicki told her. But when Brooke pulled a concerned expression towards the idea, Vicki grinned cynically. "Don't worry; he's in his element, the racist bastard. He kept nattering about how he couldn't wait to go over there and kill some `sand niggers'. Personally I hope that those `sand niggers' kill him."
There was something decidedly pessimistic and morbid about her saying that -- but Brooke didn't focus on it too long. Her attentions faded back to Amy and Carmen before long. A concerto of lip smacking brought out that attention -- with Carmen's luscious lips plucking and sucking at Amy's light brown nipples. As odd as it seemed for the two of them to be fooling around when they were high, Brooke couldn't help but admit that they were really turning her own.
"...Are they gonna be okay?" She asked.
"Don't worry about them. They don't even know you're here. C'mon, lets go to my room."
Vicki took Brooke by the wrist and pulled her out of the living room. They left the wasted Carmen and Amy behind and went into a bedroom down the surprisingly lengthy hall of that one-floor apartment. When the door slammed behind them the sounds of Carmen and Amy's soft moans, giggles and groans were blocked out.
It was the kind of room you'd expect from someone like Vicki. There were posters of plays and films she liked on the walls. She had a large stack of CDs in one corner and a separate stack of DVDs in the other. Vicki's oaken wardrobe, chest of drawers, nightstand and entertainment unit were all neatly arraigned. There was a circular rug in the centre of the room. It was quite tidy, aside from a pile of books laying any which way over the rug. Brooke recognized the names of some of the authors (Jean-Paul Sartre, Friedrich Nietzsche, etc) from what little she had learned in the philosophical studies class, but not others (Albert Camus, David Hume, Thomas Hobbes, Franz Kafka, etc). And there was an exotic, overpowering odour that was clinging to the walls, which Brooke knew to be the smell of marijuana. There was also a stereo system by the right wall that was playing a grunge song at that point in time.
Vicki sung along with the lyrics. "What the hell am I? Leper from inside! Inside wall of peace! Dirty and diseased! Sickman! Sickman, sickman, sickman...!"
"What is that?"
"K-Billy's super sounds of the 70's," She remarked sardonically. "What the fuck do you think it is? It's Sickman by Alice in Chains."
"Hey, whatever." Brooke replied with dismissal. "I didn't come here to listen to music."
Vicki walked over to her stereo system and turned down the volume of the song. "So just what did you come here for?"
"...Vicki, don't get weird on me. You know what I want."
She paused a moment. "...I'll be back in a minute."
Then the black-haired girl opened the door and left. Brooke didn't know what to make of it. It wasn't like she expected Vicki to tear her clothes off right here and now, but... this didn't feel like what had been waiting for. So she sighed and tugged a lock of her long brown hair out of her brow and behind her ear whilst waiting for Vicki to come back. Minutes later she did come back. This time Vicki had two glasses in her hand. Both of them had a pineapple drink inside them.
"Here." Vicki offered, extending her left arm.
Brooke mouthed a quick thank you and took it. Yet when she brought it to her lips she could smell the alcohol in it. "...What is this?"
"Malibu and pineapple juice. It isn't strong but it'll loosen you up."
"I don't need `loosening up'."
Vicki brought the rim to her lips and tilted the glass. The ice clattered against it. She gulped. Brooke watched her throat bob up and down. And when Vicki was finished she set the glass down on her nightstand. Then with a sole hand she pointed at Brooke's glass
"Drink it." She said.
"Just drink it. What are you, a teetotaller or something?"
"It's not that, it's just..."
Vicki rolled her eyes, snatched the glass from her and then sipped from the rim. "It's not poisoned and it's not drugged, Brooke. Is that what you're worried about?"
Brooke's eyes hardened. "I'm not worried about anything."
"Then why are you so tense?"
Now Vicki was losing patience. "What is this about? Is it Carmen and Amy? Or is it the coke? Because whatever it is, it's making you nervous. And if you're nervous then this isn't a good idea."
That system between them was starting to feel like a pattern. Whenever Vicki came onto her, she always backed off before things went any further. It was frustrating. And yet did she have a point?
For a moment Brooke stopped outright denying Vicki's accusations and considered them. Was she nervous? In her heart she didn't feel nervous. In fact she was completely stoked by the thought of coming over here and sleeping with Vicki. But that woman was also highly insightful and if she said that Brooke looked uncomfortable then she was probably right. It just didn't seem logical for Brooke to have doubts at this point. She had been waiting to express this side of herself for so long... what was holding her back? Whatever it was it couldn't be so significant that she couldn't have sex with Vicki. So Brooke steeled herself. It was what she wanted no matter how nervous she appeared to be. So she hauled off and backed the drink in her hands down until nothing was left of the glass but melting ice cubes. Vicki studied the change in Brooke's expression when she handed back the glass, light violet lipstick on the rim.
"Are you sure?"
A nod. "I'm sure. I know that I want this."
It really wasn't a question of wanting this but rather being ready for it. And yet Vicki said nothing of that sort. She finally resumed that superior smirk Brooke had come to love to see on her and climbed onto the bed. Vicki moved onto her knees and pressed herself up against Brooke's back. The shorter woman melted. She could feel Vicki's erect nipples poking her shoulder blades and cooed at the feeling of Vicki's tongue as it traced its way up the length of her left ear.
"...I have a ground rule," Vicki whispered sensually. "...I don't do commitment, okay? We won't be girlfriends. Its just sex -- you scratch my back and I'll scratch yours. Understand?"
Vicki's soft hands reached around her body "Good girl..."
At that moment she slid her hands up Brooke's smooth stomach and went underneath her top. Vicki's hands then grasped the breasts beneath and cupped them. Brooke's reflexive gasp was smothered into a moan when Vicki leaned around and kissed her. The rush of adrenalin that hit her when they first kissed in the girl's toilets of Winnicot High occurred again. Her dark brown eyes slipped shut in the moment. Before Brooke was even aware of it, one of her hands reached back and cradled Vicki's head, running her fingers through that smooth short black hair. The other hand sought her right breast, which itself was being groped and handled expertly by Vicki's right hand. Brooke moaned into their kiss and pushed her right hand into Vicki's, adding more lovely pressure to the caress.
Vicki began a steady and deliberate kneading of Brooke's tits from there on in, alternating between a massage of them and a squeezing of their stiff pink nubs every few moments. A stronger moan shook from Brooke's throat at the feel of it. Vicki used it to open her lips and thrust her tongue between them. Brooke's tongue reacted just as anyone else's would have. It flicked back. Brooke and Vicki exchanged groans within their kiss whilst their tongues danced and played with each other -- exploring, stroking, flicking.
The room was suddenly occupied by sounds that stemmed from more than just the stereo system. Those sounds were of groaning and lip smacking, of ruffled clothes and a creaking bed. The smell of the room also began to change from one of weed and furniture polish to one of weed, furniture polish and arousal. In the minutes shared between them Brooke felt her own excitement growing. The moment she'd been waiting for all her life was here and she wanted to bask in it --- to prolong it. Shivers ran down her spine. All her other senses, sight, smell, hearing, and taste, had been put behind the one that truly mattered at this point -- touch. Every touch that Vicki administered to her left behind a white-hot hunger for more in its wake that Brooke felt she had to quench.
She didn't feel the ferocity of those urges in all their weight until she felt Vicki uncouple from her. With a breathless gasp Vicki slowly dragged her tongue out of Brooke's throat, released her breasts from that tender caress, and pulled away from her downy young back.
Brooke's shoulders heaved up and down as she caught her breath. She turned around to search out Vicki's eyes. "...Vicki...?"
"Take off your top."
It was said so abruptly that Brooke didn't register anything other than the understanding that this wasn't stopping. That thought alone made her act. She crossed her arms over the underside of her white top with the pink love heart and pulled it off over her head, causing her long auburn hair to rise and fall with the motion. Brooke dropped it on the floor and locked eyes with Vicki as she knelt topless in front of her. Vicki smirked at the fact that she hadn't worn a bra tonight.
"Now take off your skirt and boots." She told her lover.
Brooke did was what asked of her. She sat down, reached out for her black three-inch heel boots and then pulled them off her feet, one after the other. They joined her shirt on Vicki's bedroom floor. Vicki merely watched intently when Brooke then hooked her thumbs under the waistband of her skirt and slid it down the length of her legs, past her small ankles and off her toes. That black skirt joined the rest of her clothes in their pile on the floor. Now, aside from the choker necklace, the snug lace panties and the socks, Brooke was naked.
It was just how Vicki wanted her. "Lie back."
No word of conformation was uttered. She merely did it. Her head landed on the pillow of Vicki's bed with her hair fanned out over it, its cinnamon brown tone integrating agreeably with the pillow's white and blue stripes. Brooke watched Vicki crawl on top of her and stare intently at her unsheathed breasts. Her face twisted into an expression of damn near carnivorous sexual hunger right before her lips dove for the left tit. Brooke released a cry of passion and arched her back went those lips seized her nipple. Vicki suckled at it like a baby seeking sustenance from its mother. Her mouth swallowed up Brooke's small pink aureole into itself and bathed it with warmth and slick saliva. The smaller girl moaned with delight at the sensations of it. Her eyes slammed shut and soon all that she was aware of was the sucking at her left mound. She felt Vicki suck upward and test its fleshy elasticity. She felt Vicki's white teeth nibble at it with tender, delicate bites -- never too hard and never too soft -- leaving behind tiny red teeth marks. She felt Vicki's tongue moving around her nipple with zeal, stroking up and pushing down onto it. She felt Vicki's oral juices being spread over that breast, making it slick and damp and warm. Every little action was like an expert art that drew reactions from Brooke. If there was any proof that Vicki was not sexually inexperienced then this was it.
While her mouth applied its sultry pleasures on Brooke's chest, Vicki's hands started to roam where they pleased. She pushed her right hand into Brooke's lithe thigh and stroked it slow and deliberately. With time that hand glided up the soft flesh toward Brooke's hips, then along her thin waist and ever northward until it seized upon her right breast. Another protracted moan was emitted from the russet-haired teenager as Vicki now worked over both of her tits, her mouth sucking one while her right hand moulded the other. Brooke went as limp as putty under the sexual prowess of Vicki's touch. When Vicki's teeth bit down on Brooke's left nipple, her fingertips twisted the right. When Vicki's mouth kissed and sucked Brooke's left breast, her hand cupped and massaged the right. The twin actions had Brooke's pussy juices flowing with fluidity that she hadn't known possible. The wet patch on her panties started to expand as a consequence.
Vicki had Brooke completely in her power.
After giving it one last consuming kiss, Vicki lifted her head from Brooke's quivering and dampened mound. Its white flesh had flushed cherry red, while the pink nipple glistened with moisture. Teeth marks had been entrenched all over it and both girls were turned on by that. She had to tilt her head up to see it, and when she did, Brooke dropped her head back down on the pillow with a satisfied smile.
It was then that she felt Vicki crawling back down her body. The black-haired girl hooked her thumbs under the band of Brooke's white panties (she stopped for a few seconds to admire their wet patch) and pulled them straight down her legs and then off of her feet. She threw them away and they landed on her copy of the Jean-Paul Sartre book, Being and Nothingness. Vicki was brought face to face with Brooke's most private space, the delicate flower of fleshy petals and moist excitement that shook and quaked with an unmistakable ache of sexual yearning. Vicki was so close to her that she could feel her aggravated breath whistling coolly over her vulva.
Brooke was breathless with anticipation. "W... what are you... doing...?"
"Opening the way to a new dimension."
Her long fingers parted Brooke's labial folds with her index and middle fingers. Vicki stared at the opening briefly, extended her lengthy pink tongue, and then forced it inside. Brooke shrieked in ecstasy and gripped the bed sheets underneath into bunches. Her mouth hung wide open while her eyes slammed shut. And Vicki proceeded to thrust her tongue in and out of the walls of her steamy, moist and contracting vagina. Brooke's senses exploded. All thoughts of Carmen and Amy, the cocaine they were using, her own nervousness, they all faded into the obscurity they belonged in.
It was the consummate moment of a night that would be carved permanently into her memory for the rest of her life -- the moment when her piddling virginity was finally and ultimately robbed from her.
The following morning, when Brooke awoke to beams of sunlight phasing through the pale auburn curtains of the window, she was awash with the situation. She felt Vicki's naked body spooning her from behind. The other girl's arms were wrapped around her waist and cupped at her crotch under the sheets. A thick sheen of dried sweat covered both of them. There was a lingering taste of Vicki's cum on her lips. It was a pleasant feeling to wake up in someone else's arms.
But something was... odd.
She had lost her virginity last night.
The moment she had been anticipating for so many years had finally happened and yet Brooke didn't feel any different. She felt good, after all there was nothing like those calm post-sex instances, but she didn't feel `liberated'. Things felt more or less the same as they did this time last night. Is this what she had been worried about last night? It was weird. After all... if there was no sexual liberation for her then what was the significance of all this other than scratching an itch?
Vicki groaned and began to stir from her sleep. Her embrace of Brooke tightened without her even realizing it. She pulled another lazy grin. "Morning."
"...Morning," Replied Brooke, her tone detached.
"Are you okay...?"
"...I think so. I just..."
"Wasn't it good for you?" Vicki asked rhetorically.
At that Brooke could smile. "Yeah, it was great. I guess... I just expected to feel differently when it finally happened though..."
"...I get it. The way people talk about sex all the time... like it's some big key to the grand schematics of life... doesn't feel like that when it really happens, right?"
Brooke sighed. "Seems like it."
"But that's normal. Don't let it bug you."
A silence descended on the pair of them. Brooke didn't let her revelation (or rather the lack of them) bother her for too long, just as Vicki had said. Instead she let herself enjoy this; lying in bed with the beautiful girl whom had fucked her senseless last night. Brooke gave a little stroke up and down of the arms that were holding her and snuggled her ass into the thin patch of black pubic hair in Vicki's crotch.
Offhandedly, she remarked, "You're lucky to have this place all to yourself."
"It suits my needs, I suppose."
And then something else dawned on Brooke. "But... don't you get concerned that you'll be found out one day? The drinking, the sex, the Mary Jane?"
"...How did you know I smoke pot?"
"Hello? Your bedroom reeks of it."
"Oh. Well don't worry about it. If there is a God and she is merciful then my Dad will be coming home from Baghdad in a box. So it doesn't matter what he thinks. And my Mom's too preoccupied with her career to care about what's happening to the fruit of her loins."
"...Well, politics can be kinda invigorating for some people..."
Vicki snorted and grinned darkly. "Oh yeah, it's all the way up there with caviar, brandy, corporate wrangling and al dente pasta. Merry fucking Christmas."
Brooke tittered at that. "You know for someone who's smiling all the time... you're kind of a bummer."
"Yeah. I guess I should have been the one to write the World as Will and Representation."
Brooke didn't quite get the joke but it didn't matter. A few moments later, the door to the bedroom opened. Carmen and Amy staggered in together. They were both a bit shaky after what they'd done last night but they seemed to both be aware of the situation. Vicki and Carmen exchanged two knowing grins with each other while a far more inhibited Brooke became decidedly uncomfortable. She brought the sheets closer to her body unconsciously.
Carmen leered at Brooke before winking at Vicki. "As salaam alaikum, whore."
"Wa-alaikum salaam, bitch," Retorted the girl with the pink forelock.
"Looks like you had a good night..." Amy remarked.
"You could say that. You two wanna join us?"
When Brooke frowned at her Vicki waved her hands in defence. "I'm just kidding."
"Well it is a shit-hot idea," Carmen wrapped her arms around Amy's supple little waist, possessively. "But Amy's mine. Besides, we gotta take off. My Mama's gonna freak again if I don't make it to church."
Amy rolled her eyes. "Why do you have to bend backwards just to please her, Carmen? Why can't your brother go? I hardly see you these days...!"
Without knowing them for so much as a day, Brooke could tell by that comment that Amy and Carmen were fairly committed to each other, no matter what jokes Vicki made. It was confirmed when Carmen cuddled the shorter woman and stroked the elongated strands of Amy's jet black hair out of her eyes. "Baby, calm down. We'll talk later, okay?"
"...Okay," Amy answered, without resolve.
Then Carmen gestured at the two in bed. "Thanks for letting us stay over last night, Vicki. I'll call you later tonight after I talk to Tammy, alright?"
With that, Carmen and Amy left and shut the door behind them. When they were gone Brooke felt like she could settle down a little -- though it seemed to be a little late to be nervous now since she had slept with Vicki while the two of them were in the next room.
"They're... nice," Said Brooke. "At least for people who snort coke, I guess."
"Don't fudge your pretty little head about it. Amy and Carmen make less sense than Neon Genesis Evangelion."
Still Brooke's thoughts rolled toward something else. "So... who's Tammy?"
"...No one you need to think about," Vicki stated that without a smile.
Following the night that Brooke had lost her virginity to Vicki, the two fell into a pattern of lust and secret meetings. It was never going to be anything elaborate but they got a kick out of the confidentiality involved in it, as well as the risks they took that pushed that mystery to its limits.
They shared no classes at Winnicot High so they couldn't flirt in any of them. But any time they passed each other in the halls they winked or exchanged notes asking one to meet up with the other at a certain point during the day. Brooke and Vicki would often steal off to a secretive place within the compound of the high school -- behind the bike sheds or in the disabled toilets -- where few people went. One Tuesday afternoon, during the lunch break, Brooke recalled Vicki having her up against the back wall of the bike rack, left leg thrown up over the shoulder of the taller girl, and finger fucking her relentlessly. They even snuck up to the roof of the humanities department building for their sexual exchanges. Whenever they had a good place to lie down Brooke recalled servicing Vicki's pussy with her tongue and her fingers in a synchronization she was fast coming to terms with.
They only had sex at school about three or four times a week, but Brooke couldn't have been more excited about all of it. There was something thrilling about living and fucking on the edge like that. Vicki was good at what she did and didn't ask questions. In fact over time it became almost a drug to her. If Brooke were to have a bad day, arguing with her parents or being reprimanded by a teacher for failing to turn in an assignment on time, all she had to do was find and sleep with Vicki and it all seemed better.
Though there was an ambition as to how much they could stretch their luck before they were caught, they had established rules between them. Neither Brooke nor Vicki was to talk about each other to anyone else (other than Carmen and Amy, who already knew). That was easier for Brooke because essentially she had no real friends -- just acquaintances -- but with Vicki it was more serious. She wasn't part of the `popular' crowd, the kind of crowd that girls like Hannah Harris and Erika Robinson were in, but she had a small circle of friends at school that she didn't want knowing of her private life. For Brooke the main thing was to keep their sexual liaisons away from the knowledge of her parents. Though they were decent, hardworking and open-minded people, Brooke simply wasn't ready to tell her Mom or her Dad about her sexuality. The second rule was one that Vicki stressed more than Brooke did -- and that was that they couldn't meet on weekends. She merely stressed it as `me time'. Honestly, Brooke never understood that rule, since meeting up then was realistically the best time for it. In the end she didn't begrudge the rule. She and Vicki had a good thing going and all Brooke wanted was to ride out the wave to its fruition, no strings attached.
Unfortunately for her, sex, as Brooke had always suspected and had nearly forgotten, was never so `cut and dry' for her.
Their system of sneaky sex lasted the better part of three months before the cracks started to manifest in the stone. There was a point one week when Vicki made no attempt what so ever to find her. At first Brooke had just thought it was a blip because she later found her and they did have sex (janitor's closet -- music department -- Brooke went down on her) but it happened again the following week. And that time she didn't find Vicki. As per the rules they couldn't wait for each other by their classrooms because that might arouse suspicion. Brooke couldn't help but feel that something was wrong and so she broke that rule. On a warm Friday morning (shortly before the lunch period) Brooke hid behind a door just two doors down from Vicki's French class. She watched the girl with the pink forelock exit and then followed her to the cafeteria -- a place they NEVER went together -- where she sat down and ate with a little blonde girl who appeared to have been waiting for her. Brooke had no idea who that blonde girl was but she was categorically aware of the glaring twinge of jealousy pooling in her stomach.
She never spoke of that day to Vicki.
But in subsequent weeks things began to get worse. It became clear when they stopped running into each other that Vicki was purposefully avoiding her. Whenever Brooke tried to call her on her cell phone she would be told that it was `turned off'. And the day soon came when Vicki outright blew her off, muttering tired excuses like `I've got a headache' or `I'm kinda tired' or better still `I've got too much going on right now'. Since Vicki's social life and schoolwork had never gotten in the way of her sex life before, Brooke knew that there was a problem. And she also became aware of how much that frightened her.
Vicki was still as casual about their sex as she was the first day they did sleep together. And yet Brooke was growing increasingly needy and desperate about it. It was only later on in that week that Brooke was to learn that the imbalance of genuine emotion installed in their `relationship' was what would tear it asunder.
It all came to a head early in the month of July when the maiden of summer had set her foot down. The first week of the month proved to be the first week in which they didn't have sex once. In fact they had only spoken to each other that week a maximum of three times. All three of those times Vicki had been distant, almost cold. It had Brooke concerned that something was deeply wrong -- so concerned that she couldn't focus on anything else. And so she felt utterly obligated to break the rule that Vicki had felt so strongly about; no weekend meetings. Saturday morning Brooke woke up, showered, slapped on the first clean set of clothes she could find, left her house, and hopped on the first bus that could take her to Vicki's apartment building. Brooke felt nervous about it at the time; you know, that weird sinking feeling you get in your gut when you're about to make a big mistake? But she ignored it. Once again she got off the bus and walked to Vicki's apartment building, went into its lobby, ascended it via the elevator and stepped nervously to apartment #98. Brooke swallowed the lump in her throat and rang the doorbell.
No one answered.
So she rang it again.
Once more no one answered it.
So she lifted the `welcome' mat on her doorstep and took up the spare key under it. Vicki had mentioned that she could be forgetful about her keys and so she always left a spare one underneath it -- no matter how unsafe it was. Once again there was a foreboding ache in her stomach and once again Brooke didn't acknowledge it. She unlocked the front door and walked inside regardless.
As soon as she did she heard a sound she had learned to love -- the sound of Vicki's moans of pleasure. Brooke's blood ran cold when she silently put one foot after the other toward her lounge door. It was partly open. Through that she saw Vicki, naked from the breasts down, lying back on one of her sofas. A blonde girl kneeled with her head between Vicki's legs and it bobbed up and down rhythmically. Brooke was horrified when she realized, even from that position, that it was the same girl who Vicki had snuck off to speak to at lunch that day. Even more threatening than that was the delirious look of rapture that was burning on Vicki's features. Her mouth was wide open; her eyes were locked shut, her nostrils were flared. Her cheeks were sweaty and glowing red with excitement. And to further serve Brooke's utter humiliation and heartbreak, Vicki groaned and whimpered to that blonde's licking of her in a soul-consuming way that Brooke alone had never been able to elicit.
"Oh God yeah," Vicki whispered in her lustful and breathless delight. "That feels sooooo good, Tammy..."
Brooke's heart fell at that name. `Tammy'. From the very same day that Vicki had made her into a woman, she'd been planning to hook up with that very same girl. Now not only was Brooke hurt -- but she felt like the biggest fool. But in the moments before Brooke turned to run away, Vicki opened her eyes and glanced toward the door with a disjointed smile. That same smile transformed into a frown of startled confusion.
"Brooke!?" She yelled. "What the hell are you doing here?!"
Tammy jumped with surprise and leaned up in the couch, her lips dripping with Vicki's liquid womanhood, while Vicki speedily rolled off the sofa, grabbed her jeans and put them on. She charged out into the corridor where Brooke scrambled for the door. Vicki bolted ahead of her when Brooke tried to open it and slammed it shut.
"I don't believe this," Vicki barked. "I thought I told you not to come here on weekends!"
"Is... this why you've been blowing me off?" Brooke shouted erratically. The anger was already starting to peak and the tears were starting to fall. "So you could fuck around with that little slut!?"
"Would you keep your voice down...?!"
"Why should I?! You're sleeping with someone else! How could you do this to me, Vicki? I thought that we were..."
Vicki grimaced. "You thought we were what? Girlfriends? Brooke, I told you that whatever happened between us would just be about sex! I told you I wasn't looking for commitment! I don't owe you anything!"
"You're lying...!" Brooke pleaded between sobs. "I know that you feel something for me! You and I have been together for months! How can you just throw that away...?"
"You don't get it, do you? We've never even been on a date, for Christ's sake! I never said I'd be exclusive to you! And yet you have the nerve to waltz into my apartment and spy on me?! Who the hell do you think you are?"
Brooke covered her mouth to stop crying. "...Vicki, please..."
Vicki face-faulted once more before exhaling to calm herself. Then she looked up at Brooke with the coldest look she'd ever seen before. "Look, this isn't the L Word and I'm not Jennifer Beals. I'm not gonna make grand gestures to sweep you off your feet and ride off with you to some big, dyke-friendly sunset in the distance. We're not gonna get married in South Africa, we're not gonna buy sperm off the black market to impregnate you, and we're not gonna be buried under twin tombstones that read `Mrs and Mrs Valentine'. I'll spare you from any trite lines like `it's just not working out' or `it's not you, it's me' or even `I just need some space'. I'll just tell it like it is. We're done. Done and dusted. Done, dusted and dead. And I don't mean comic book character dead, I mean Charlemagne dead. The deadest kind of dead there is. It doesn't matter what you say, do or think. There's no phoenix down that's gonna bring that `relationship' back to life, all right? Game over and get out."
Tears start to well up in Brooke's eyes. "W-why... why are you being this way with me?"
The girl with the pink forelock opened the door, grabbed Brooke by the shoulders, and then muttered `get outta my house' as she shoved her out of it. The door was slammed in her face before she could get back in. Brooke launched up and banged her fists against it, repeatedly screaming Vicki's name in sobs, making so much racket that some of the neighbours opened their curtains to see what was going on. But it became clear soon that Vicki wouldn't open the door. Brooke burst into tears and slid down the wood of the door, more shaken, aghast, embarrassed and vulnerable than she had ever felt.
That Saturday was to stand out for the rest of Brooke's days as one of the worst in her life. In fact it wasn't until what she did to Amanda that she felt any lower. There were so many more levels to it. Not only had she allowed herself to rely pathetically on Vicki's explosive sexual affection, she had also blinded herself into being they were `girlfriends', then had gone on to humiliate herself by going over there and ended up catching Vicki in the act. If that hadn't been enough, Vicki had kicked her out of the apartment and had been the one to dump her. Brooke didn't even have the comfort of that to help boost her ego. Needless to say the event went on to occupy much of her thoughts for the following three weeks. It was the most embarrassing set of circumstances she could have imagined at the time. Brooke could never go so far as to say that she was in love with Vicki -- so she wasn't heartbroken in any way. But she had been deeply hurt and more strikingly, horrifically humiliated. To want someone as badly as she wanted Vicki back then and then to feel how little Vicki even cared about her was the real kicker.
For the next two and a half weeks Brooke entered into a period she would always call the `The Black Fortnight'. In a sense she couldn't will herself to do anything. Not only did she feel angry with Vicki for everything, she also felt depressed about losing her, and sexually irritated without her affection. She didn't want to go to school for running the risk of bumping into the girl -- which also meant dropping her philosophical studies after school class. Unfortunately Karen Leigh Williams, the history teacher who had suggested the idea to her in the first place, went out of her way to make her reconsider. Brooke had caved simply because she was so heartfelt and warm about it. But in the end she avoided school altogether by pretending to be sick. It was the usual stuff of deception. When her Mom gave her a thermometer she put it on top of a cooling radiator to get it warm -- not too cold and not too hot. She faked coughs and tried to generally seem ill, which wasn't very difficult considering that she had been in a depressed mood ever since Vicki had `dumped' her. She was already eating little and spent most of her time moping about the house in her lavender bathrobe. Her parents hadn't been oblivious to that. Brooke was never a very happy person to begin with but she certainly wasn't the angst-ridden emo type, so it struck the `rents as odd that she'd be acting like this. It validated the whole `I-am-sick' angle.
Two weeks were spent with Brooke at home, mostly home alone, doing nothing but sulk in bed watching movies, eating ice cream (though she had to do that behind her Mom and Dad's back. When they left for work they'd leave a bowl of chicken soup in the microwave for her. In reality she just fed it to her pet kitten, Jackie, and ordered out for a pizza, the boxes of which she hid in her closet), and generally trying not to burst into tears anymore. After a fortnight of that system, of laying about the house and avoiding school, Brooke soon started to do some thinking.
She had plenty of time for it, after all.
But the conclusions she came to gave her a stronger sense of what went wrong with Vicki. The pink-banged girl had obviously started to back off when Brooke felt closer to her. She had the foresight to see things were going beyond the no feelings realm. As much Brooke hated Vicki, she had to admit that this was no one's fault but her own. And the more she thought of that the more Brooke realized it was true. She thought back to night that they had first had sex; the same night she met Amy and Carmen. Vicki asked her if she was `ready'. At first Brooke thought that she was merely asking if she was ready to cross the gap and lose her virginity. Now Brooke was beginning to think otherwise. Perhaps what Vicki meant was, was she ready to have sex that didn't mean anything. After a while that seemed stupidly obvious to her. Both Brooke and Vicki had miscalculated. Brooke certainly was NOT ready to free herself to someone without their being any substance to it. Not only had Vicki stolen her first kiss but also her first time... how could Brooke want anything less from Vicki after all that? At the end of it all Brooke and Vicki had entered into their little fling with the same want, sex. But inevitably they had conflicting ideas about the situation surrounding that sex. Since Vicki had said pretty clearly that she only wanted to fuck, no strings attached, Brooke placed most of the blame for it all on her own shoulders. But then toward the end of the Black Fortnight Brooke started to think in a different way.
She knew the score now. She didn't want to be just another bit of skirt to anyone, but why was she the one who had to be `that bit of skirt'? There was a rationale here that Brooke took time to see... but when she found her way to it she found that it couldn't be denied. Why was she alone at home moping around when Vicki was likely out there moving onto her next conquest? Why did Brooke have to be the one most damaged by the whole thing? Why should her sex life come to an end simply because Vicki had cut her off? If Vicki could move onto sluts, like Tammy undoubtedly was, then why couldn't she?
The time Brooke came to that conclusion she was in bed, mid-afternoon. It was a sunny day. Kids were coming home from school and stopping only to offer their bits of change to the dude in ice cream truck. Clouds weren't obscuring anything, the grass was green and the sky was blue. Everything was as it had been before Vicki Valentine had entered her life. Brooke crawled out of bed and went to the window. She found herself observing and absorbing all this. Why should ANY of it change now that Vicki wasn't in her life?
There was something about the review of all this that presented the girl with a new side to the argument.
Brooke was an attractive young woman, attractive enough for Vicki to pay attention to her, no matter how fleeting that was. She had a middle-class background, she wasn't smart but she certainly wasn't stupid, she was probably headed for college and a well-paying job following it. Vicki be damned. Why hang around and mope?
As soon as those thoughts came to mind, Brooke dropped the bucket of vanilla ice cream in her hands and swiftly peeled off her nightgown. She marched up to her mirror and tossed her hair in front of it, running her fingers through her long brown tresses. Tear tracks had stained her cheeks (at that moment she could remember her Mom asking about that last night) so she licked her thumb and wiped them away. It was a new day and Brooke was certainly not going to waste it thinking about Vicki and the mistakes she'd made with her. A quick review of thought made Brooke rush out of her bedroom in her underwear and go straight to the bathroom. She assembled some shampoo, bathing oils and a towel, then turned the taps and poured herself a nice hot bubble bath. She didn't come out until an hour or so later when steam seeped out the door and the scent of wildflowers clung to her damp tanned skin.
Brooke grabbed her hair into one thick lock and squeezed the droplets of water from it, as she emerged naked and free from the bathroom. It was sudden and weird but as she did this she felt as though a weight had been removed from her back. There was a sense of a great renewal that she now felt the need to exploit. And with that burst of energy, Brooke felt the need to assert herself. Not by saying to herself that she didn't need Vicki but by displaying it wholeheartedly. Her mind scrolled through every little detail that she could remember Vicki explaining to her, specifically about where and what she did to get close to women like her, women-who-like-women. Over time she came to recall that Vicki once said that she frequented certain nightclubs in Minneapolis. `Dyke bars', she called them. A moment was taken and Brooke thought about it. Why not go to one? Both she and Vicki were underage, but weeks earlier, she had given the girl her photo and so Vicki had gotten one of her shadier friends to forge her an ID. Vicki had one too, and thus far Brooke had never used hers, but now was as good a time as any. Though Vicki and Brooke had never been to any clubs together there was one that Vicki had spoken of frequently, Crimson. It was apparently where she'd met Carmen (and thus Amy, as they both had fake IDs of their own, though not provided by the same person).
Brooke went to her handbag and pulled out her fake ID. If this could get her into a club, and if getting into a club helped her to find someone who could in turn help her to get over Vicki, then it was well worth using it. Resolved on this, Brooke spent the rest of the afternoon assembling something to wear. If what Vicki had told her was true then Crimson was open every day except Mondays and Wednesdays, so she didn't have to worry about that. Brooke had a little money from her Saturday job (basically she worked retail at a clothes store) so drinks and taxi fare wasn't a problem. Half an hour later she had decided on what she wanted to wear and how she was going to wear it. She had a white number that could only be described as a cocktail dress, but it was cut a little shorter and ended a third of the way down her thighs. She had also selected a pair of open-toed club heels, two teardrop-shaped diamond earrings, and the skimpiest white lingerie she'd ever bought for herself. Brooke put it all together and hid it under her bed. Her parents wouldn't let her out now that they thought that she was sick and so would have to sneak out when they were asleep.
By eight, they returned together, ate at the dinner table together, and then curled up on the sofa watching reruns of Frasier together. They were one of those extremely weird and extremely rare couples that always seemed to be happy with each other. Brooke waited until they went to bed at about eleven or so, then got dressed and snuck the hell out of there. Under the cover of pitch-black darkness she crossed the Jordan that was her street and waited by the bus stop for the next thing smoking. Crimson was downtown so there was a bit of a ride from the white suburbia that was her homestead to the district that her intended nightclub was in. Forty-five minutes later in hours inching toward midnight, Brooke got off at a stop close to the location. Immediately though, Brooke saw the change in the tone of her surroundings. Neon lights of every colour brightened up the numerous clubs and arcades that lined this high street, emphasized by the night's darkness. White faces were abound in her little corner of Minneapolis but here it was different -- a mixture of ethnicities littered the streets, Whites, Blacks, Latinos, Asians and all those in-between. Brooke suddenly thought of those dumb country girls wowed by the `big city'.
"I'm no Sheronda..." She thought privately.
So rather than stand around and marvel she crossed the road and went over to an alleyway gap between two other buildings. Vicki's directions had been accurate. Brooke entered it and saw at the end of the pathway a small stairwell. It had a door at its bottom and a sign hung over that door displaying the name of the club, `Crimson'. There was a burly bouncer ahead, cool dance music banging in the background and a lengthy line of people queuing to get in. Brooke joined the end of that line and noted with some relief that aside from the bouncer, everyone here was female. Time passed slowly as the number of people ahead of Brooke grew smaller and the number of those behind grew in number, until finally she was next to be let in. It was then that she took out her fake ID and displayed to the balding, rotund African-American bouncer standing ahead of the door.
He glanced at the card and then eyeballed her suspiciously. "...Ain't you a little small for a 21-year-old?"
Brooke shrugged and found her humour once more. "...Just call me Gary Coleman. Minus the dick, of course."
The bouncer rolled his eyes and tossed her back the card. "Just get your ass in there."
She got the feeling that he was too irritated today to ask any serious questions, hapless as that was. Brooke only smiled as she caught the card and walked into the nightclub when the bouncer made way for her. When the girl walked in and the intensity of the loud music thundering from wall-hanging stereo systems made its mark, she found herself within an environment in which more women had been assembled into a sole place than she had ever known possible. No jocks, stoners or geeks in sight. It was a great mixture of women whom she was sure that the vast majority of were older than her. Many were on the dance floor getting down and around with their respective partners to the beat on the air. Some sat around the tables with drinks at their side. There were numerous couples around and there was an intimacy between them that Brooke never imagined would occur collectively. There were couples necking by their tables, by the walls and even on the dance floor. Brooke was overwhelmed and startled by it all. Minneapolis wasn't exactly a small town so realistically it shouldn't have been any big surprise to her. Yet it was. Nevertheless she didn't want to give out the impression that she was. So the young woman sustained her will and thought about the first thing she wanted to do -- get a drink. Brooke nudged her way between women and strode over to the bar on the other side of the club. There was a free stool nearby (as someone had just gotten off it) and so Brooke claimed its scarlet upholstery for herself.
When she sat down a scantily clad woman in her college grad years walked over to her and beamed a flirtatious million-dollar smile. "What can I get for you, cutie?"
Brooke was so caught up in her surroundings that she scarcely remembered that she didn't drink often. The only time she really started was when she was with Vicki. Even then she hadn't built up a preference for anything. And the only drinks that bitch Vicki had ever liked were vodka and Irish cream.
The blonde bartender smirked. "A little new here?"
"...Kinda," Brooke admitted, suddenly timid.
"I'll get you a pina colada then. It's got a kick to it but not nearly enough to have you bouncing off the walls."
"Sounds good. How much?"
The bartender winked at her. "It's on the house this time, cutie."
Brooke smiled with innocent esteem like a child recently given ice cream, and watched as the young waitress got that drink ready for her in a thin cylinder glass. She dropped a few ice cubes into it and gave it a miniature parasol before turning back to Brooke and handing the drink to her. "Here you go, cute face." She said.
"Thanks." The younger girl replied. When she noticed people standing behind her to be served she suddenly had the urge to get up. Brooke sipped her drink and did just that. She looked around for a moment and wondered what to do next. Somehow she got the quite accurate impression that she wouldn't be the life of this party so she searched out a free table. There was one in a far corner that was empty, even though it could seat about six people. So the girl tugged some of her shoulder-length brown hair behind her ear and went for it. Though she had to bump past a few bodies again to claim the seat, she was there in little time.
Brooke sat down and placed her drink on its polished wooden surface. There were some coasters with beer labels hanging around the centre of the table but she didn't use them. It didn't seem important.
At that moment Brooke just sat back and absorbed all that was going on around her. Now coming here felt right because she didn't feel very nervous. There was something soothing about being near likeminded (notwithstanding older) women. And there were no pretences here. She didn't have to put on a straight show to be comfortable or to avoid suspicion. It was nice in a very specific way, like getting into debt then finding out you had a little bit of money stashed away to cover it. And the next hour Brooke spent doing that and that alone, watching these lively women dance, kiss, drink and smoke cigs in the suitably darkened hall with that banging music in the background. That was until a waitress came around to her table with a tray, took a cocktail glass of white wine off of it, and handed it to her.
Brooke blinked. "Um, excuse me, I didn't order anything."
"Compliments of the `lady'," The waitress threw her thumb over her shoulder and pointed out someone by the bar. "Have fun."
When the waitress walked off Brooke glanced at the bar, thinking for a hopeful instant that the woman who had sent her the drink was that friendly-flirtatious bartender. It wasn't her at all though. Brooke locked eyes with a woman in her late twenties, perhaps even her early thirties. She was reasonably tall for a woman (at least she was by Brooke's unworldly estimations), had hair made spiky by gel and was dressed in a black shirt and denim jeans. She had a chilled bottle of San Miguel beer in her hand and gulped it down whilst studying Brooke in turn. A few seconds of staring and the older woman winked at her.
The girl blushed.
For a moment she had forgotten why she was here. In a way she had expected people her own age (assuming there were any other high school students with fake IDs in here). What was she to do in a situation like this? Fortunately that woman made the decision for her. It took a brief pause for her to set her beer down and peel her way through the crowds to reach Brooke's table. The woman slapped her hand down on the table and grinned with both lust and momentum. "Don't mind if I sit, do you?"
"Uh, no. Of course not."
She sat down. And although she left herself a generous arm's worth of distance between herself and Brooke, there was no feasible contention as to what she'd come over for. It made Brooke both horny and edgy.
"What's your name?" The woman asked with a smile.
She inhaled and exhaled before answering. "...It's Brooke."
"Cute," was the reply. "You can call me Charlie."
Though she noted the name Brooke couldn't think of a single thing to say. It was weird. She found it easy to speak to Vicki after what happened in the girl's toilets that day, why was it so hard to speak to an older woman? It wasn't like she was sexually inexperienced anymore.
"T-that's nice..." Was all she could think of to say.
Charlie pulled an all-knowing smirk. In a way it reminded Brooke a lot of the way Vicki used to sneer and grin, as though she was tuned into the flow of the universe. But there was a certain something different about this woman. Brooke could feel without putting any effort into it that Charlie wasn't the type to play games. This was a new level and once again Brooke found herself questioning whether or not to take the big leap and go forward. She pondered for a moment as Charlie silently undressed her with those ravenous brown eyes of hers. Brooke sipped the white wine that Charlie had sent her. Then she set it down after gulping down half of it. She failed to notice that Charlie had shifted herself a few inches closer.
"Are you a bit nervous?" Charlie asked. "Is it your first time, coming to a place like this?"
Brooke nodded wordlessly.
"Hey. There's nothing to be scared of. Why don't you tell me what you do?"
Somewhere in Brooke's planning for this night she had forgotten what to say if someone asked her about her life. She couldn't say she was a high school student otherwise it would totally blow her cover. Though Charlie didn't seem to be the type that would have even cared if Brooke were underage, she couldn't take the risk of revealing her real age and situation.
"I, uh... kind of... work at a clothing store..."
Charlie moved slightly closer to her again. "Like that job?"
"It's cool..." Brooke shook her head as if making a mistake. "I mean it's... it's good..."
The older woman chuckled a little. "...You're the most beautiful girl here, you know that?"
Another blush. Vicki had complimented her too, but never so forwardly.
Though Brooke was quite oblivious to it there was kind of a `kitten with a ball' element to all this. The kitten, which in this case was Charlie, tapped the ball with her paw and watched it react as if it had a mind of its own. Whereas the ball, which in this case was Brooke, remained inert until the `kitten' tapped her and made her roll. And it seemed like the more the ball rolled the harder the kitten wanted to tap it.
Brooke sort of fell out of focus with things as she preoccupied herself with thoughts about how to handle this situation, so much so that she failed to notice Charlie moving closer and closer to her. It didn't dawn on her until the older woman's hand touched her knee. Brooke swallowed only to have Charlie draw in her chin with the subtle touch of her fingertips.
"I've been watching you since you came in," The brunette uttered with sultry charm. "I bet you've got no clue how sexy you look when you blush..."
Vicki had told her something similar once before. That pretty much clarified that Charlie's complements of her weren't enthusiastic bullshit. Those were the sole thoughts running across the emptying fields of Brooke's mind. She quivered as Charlie's caress of her knee ran slowly up her thigh and back again. Brooke shut her eyes only to have Charlie lean in and whisper softly into her ear.
"I don't fuck around," Charlie murmured, her strong voice just audible over the music, "And I know you know what I want...`cause I think you want the same thing. So tell you what. Why don't we get a few more drinks in... and then we'll go someplace quiet, yeah?"
Brooke merely nodded.
Charlie's grin widened as a consequence.
The next fifty-two minutes and thirty-seven seconds were spent in a very specific way. A leisurely and lusty Charlie sat back and asked Brooke a few half-hearted questions. Brooke went about answering them with increasing frankness and sincerity. The only reason for that was the supply of alcohol being thrown her way. Initially Charlie ordered for her a small glass of vodka and orange as they started talking. But once that drink disappeared into Brooke's gullet she was given another one. Then another. Then a fourth and then a fifth and then a sixth and so on, all the while Brooke became looser and more clumsy, admitting things as intimate as her feelings of isolation at school and her self-hatred for coming to care for Vicki. All the while Charlie just sat and nodded along as though she were listening intently. In fact all she really did was grope and paw at the teen as she spoke. Charlie stroked her thighs and cupped her right breast, sniffed her hair and nuzzled her neck. And by her seventh drink Brooke was too wasted to notice or care. Before long she was drunk. At that point Charlie glanced at the bar and gestured to three women sitting there. They had beers in their hands and watched the table secretively. When Charlie gestured at them they all exchanged smiles and got up off their seats toward the door.
Charlie then wrapped her arm around the reeling Brooke's shoulders. "Lets go for a drive."
She half-walked, half-staggered away from the table, slumping against Charlie's stronger shoulders for support. At that point all of Brooke's senses were skewered. And from then on she could only piece together the things that were taking place around her.
In minutes she knew that she had left the club because the music in her ears died down. Female murmurs and the clicking of her boots against concrete replaced that sound. It was colder out here too. She vaguely perceived someone grabbing her ass, which led her to realize lazily that there was someone other than Charlie standing around her. Yet Brooke was so out of it she couldn't have brought herself to care. She felt herself walk/stagger to the edge of the sidewalk where the louder sound of a car door opening and slamming graced her ears.
"Have you seen her ass?" One said, a voice that was not Charlie's.
A second voice, slightly gruffer, agreed with a grunt. "Get her in the car."
She didn't know if she tripped or if she was pushed but Brooke fell onto something that was cushioned. There were light bursts of feminine laughter around her, and if her senses were to be trusted, it came from at least four different people. Brooke felt two strong yet soft hands against her waist. Those hands nudged her up into a sitting position. Doors slammed in again and an engine roared. Brooke became partially aware of at least two women sitting to either side of her. One of them was breathing heavily against her ear to her right. That one seemed to have put one of her hands on Brooke's knee and squeezed. The woman to her left was more tactile. Brooke could feel that woman clumsily reach underneath the hem of her dress and push her hand into her inner thighs. She felt herself tighten up, gasping. Then lips were pressed against hers, silencing her. With the little coherent thought she had she knew that the woman to the right was kissing her -- and before long shoving her tongue down her throat. The kiss was distracting and vigorous. After a few moments of exchanging saliva with this woman it became even harder to know what else was going on around her.
It wasn't until the woman on the left stopped kissing her that she realized that that same woman now had her large hand down her panties. Once their lips disconnected she heard herself moan loudly -- as if she were listening to herself on TV or something. There was some kind of conversation going on in the background between two of the women. By voice alone she identified one of those women as Charlie while the other she had no clue about.
"Where do we take her?" The unknown voice asked.
Charlie replied. "Virginia Park. Nobody'll bother us there."
Brooke faded in and out of that conversation as the two women at her side continued to paw at her. About fifteen minutes later, when the screeching of the tyres came to a halt, the situation at the back of the car had changed. Brooke now felt her back on the seat. The woman to her left had a hand reaching down and cupping her right breast through her dress. The older woman using her other hand to fiddle with something that turned out to be her zipper. The woman on the other side of her went active again. Shortly after that Brooke's focus started to fade. She drank too much and her will to simply care joined it. There were only a few things she remembered about what happened after that. She heard light fabric being ripped and realized that it was the chest part of her dress. Someone thereafter took one of her nipples into their mouth. That same person pushed apart Brooke's thighs with hands and tore the panties off of her. Heavy breathing, panting, sighs and moans then became prominent in that car when the two women went down on Brooke in conjunction. As soon as Brooke felt the woman between her legs thrust her fingers straight up her vagina. At the same time the woman kneeling over her head bent over and pushed her musky, dampened pussy into her face, smothering her. Those were the last things she remembered before passing out.
It was the end of her night -- but not theirs.
Hours later, when Brooke began to stir from unconsciousness somewhere; the first thing she came to notice was how sore she felt. Her hips hurt from being pushed open wide for so long, both of her nipples ached as though the had been chewed incessantly for hours, and her jaw was tender from being pushed open by something. Most oddly of all she felt upon waking that her ass was sore. Not merely her butt cheeks (which were tender too obviously from being slapped there so many times) but her actual asshole was aching. Brooke's eyes slowly fluttered open and she looked around. Immediately she saw that she was alone in a park that she hadn't been to before and she was laid out over a park bench. Her clothes had been torn up. Her breasts were uncovered because of that and her panties were hanging off her left ankle. One of her shoes was missing. Her purse lay beneath her legs and she could taste cum on her lips. Brooke swallowed the lump in her throat and tried to piece together what happened.
She had been at Crimson when Charlie sent her a drink and came over. They were talking about something and then she started drinking. Then she imprecisely recalled herself being dragged into a car with Charlie and three other women. Shortly after that the two women in the back seat started fucking her and that was the last thing Brooke remembered before waking up here. A dark feeling of self-pity welled up inside her. Those bitches had fucked her senseless and she couldn't even remember how it happened. If the tingling residual ache in her asshole was anything to go by then they had even finger-fucked her while she was passed out.
Why was it that no matter what she did or whom she slept with, she always felt like the one being used?
Brooke chuckled with self-loathing for a moment before feeling last night's drinking take its toll. She balked and turned over to puke chunky white liquid all over the grass beside the bench. Though Brooke couldn't understand why it took this long for her to regurgitate, she didn't ask any questions. When she had puked up at least a quart's worth of what she had drunk last night, Brooke leaned back onto the bench and sobbed. The entire night was a disaster. At that single point in time she had never felt more pathetic in all her life.
Yet it was funny how wonderful moments can follow such horrible ones.
Just a few seconds after Brooke was reintroduced to her lunch, she heard two things; one of them were footsteps and the other was a dog's barking. Brooke's eyes rolled to her right. There she saw a little Alsatian puppy with its collar tied to a leash. Holding that leash was the hand of the most beautiful woman Brooke Miller would ever lay eyes on.
She would later learn that that girl's name was Amanda Winters.
END OF PART ONE
* There you have it. Part one of Lost and Karmic. This wasn't a big intentional project on my part, I was just fooling around and wrote a scene (the Brooke/Amanda scene) and stared pondering -- `what would be the background to a situation like this?' and thus came Lost and Karmic. This story isn't about being `real' or being legitimate in the way people play off each other in real life -- to me it was just fun, which is why I included so many references to things that I like as a person. But in the end I decided I would split it into two parts rather than write the whole thing flat out. Thus I won't be continuing it unless I get positive reactions (if any).
* There are numerous references to the things that appeal or matter to me as a person, most of which I assume went right over your heads. But for the record;
- The name for Brooke and Vicki's high school is `Winnicot High', which is a reference to the Kevin Winnicot, the Red Testament, of the Xenosaga video game series.
- Mr. Ostrowski, the teacher hosting the `Philosophical Studies' class. If you've read the Autobiography of Malcolm X (or seen the Spike Lee Joint) then you might remember that Mr. Ostrowski is the one that told a younger Malcolm that his aspirations to become a lawyer weren't a `realistic' goal for a `nigger'. As you can see my version of him is less of a bastard.
- In the Philosophical Studies class Nietzsche is discussed a lot. If you've read any of my non-sexual work then it should be obvious that he is my favourite philosopher.
- In one section of the chapter Brooke is watching Pulp Fiction. If you can't guess already, I'm a big Tarantino fan.
- In that same scene Vicki comments that her place is no `Jack Rabbit Slim's'. If you've seen Pulp Fiction then you'll know that Jack Rabbit Slim's is the 50's/60's retro diner that Mia and Vincent go to.
- Brooke's mom is named `Beatrix'. There was a joke slapped into this story about how there was no `Kiddo' included in that. For those that didn't get it -- `Beatrix Kiddo' is the real name of The Bride in Tarantino's Kill Bill films.
- When Brooke drops by Vicki's place in the story, Vicki greets her by saying `Namaste'. It's a Southeast Asian greeting, but incidentally the idea of Vicki using it came to me after I re-played the video game Street Fighter Alpha 3 and hearing the character Dhalsim utter it as his opening taunt.
- The song playing in Vicki's room (which she sings some lyrics from) before she has sex with Brooke is called `Sickman', a song by a band called Alice in Chains. It comes from their album `Dirt'. I included this because Alice in Chains in my second favourite band of all time, following The Offspring.
- When Brooke can't identify the song or the band or the album, Vicki sarcastically refers to it as K-Billy's Super Sounds of the 70's. If you have not seen the Tarantino film Reservoir Dogs then you might not know that this is the `radio station' playing classic 70's songs at select moments in the film.
- During the sex scene between Brooke and Vicki, Brooke asks what Vicki is `doing' when about to go down on her. Vicki's reply is `opening the way to a new dimension'. This is a reference to Metal Gear Solid 2: Sons of Liberty. When Raiden confronts Fatman and the bomber speaks of the liquidation of Dead Cell, he makes a similar comment.
- When Brooke comments on Vicki's negativity, the morning after they have sex, Vicki replies that she should have been the one to write the World as Will and Representation. It is a book written by Arthur Schopenhauer, a philosopher known for his `pessimistic' views of mankind.
- In that same scene, when Carmen and Amy barge in, Vicki and Carmen greet each other by exchanging sentences that begin with `As salaam alaikum' and `Wa-alaikum salaam'. These are Muslim greetings but essentially are my references once again to Malcolm X.
- Vicki comments at the end of that scene that Carmen and Amy make less sense than Neon Genesis Evangelion. This is a slam on a Japanese animation that I have more than a few... issues with.
- At certain points in the story, three characters are mentioned that do not appear in it, and they are Karen Leigh Williams, Hannah Harris and Erika Robinson. These three appear in another story of mine (only one chapter thus far) called Those Who Live Between Reason and Emotion. It takes place within the same `universe' as Lost and Karmic.
- When Vicki `breaks up' with Brooke she makes a comment that they won't get married in South Africa. Same sex marriage was recently legalized there.
- In that same break-up speech Vicki says that a phoenix down won't save the relationship. A phoenix down is an item in the computer game series Final Fantasy that resurrects dead characters (in terms of gameplay).
- The name of Brooke's kitten is Jackie. This is yet again another reference to a Tarantino film; this one being Jackie Brown.
- The bar that Brooke goes to is called `Crimson'. This is a reference to a special technique called Crimson that Suzuka uses to kill Hitoriga in the English dub of the anime Outlaw Star.
- Before she enters Crimson, a semi-intimidated Brooke states that she is `no Sheronda'. That is, once again, a reference to a Tarantino film, Jackie Brown. The character Sheronda is basically one of those stereotypical country-girls wowed by the big city.