The characters herein are mine. Any resemblance to real or fictional people are strictly part of your imagination. Some places in the story are real and some are fictional.
This story depicts an explicit love/sexual relationship between two consenting adult women. If you are under 18 years of age or if this type of story is illegal in the state or country in which you live, please do not read it. If depictions of this nature disturb you, you may wish to read something other than this story.
Author's note: I have to take a moment to jump up and down and cheer wildly for Complx and Barb. You ladies are a huge help and I appreciate it. I genuflect at your feet.
The blonde bartender wiped up what must have been two kegs of beer that night. Her feet were soaked, and the section between her upper thighs and her ribs felt waterlogged with liquor. Looking around at the sea of oddity that called themselves customers: bikers, punks, Goths, and the majority—teenage frat boys—she couldn't understand for the life of her why college kids had this need to inebriate themselves so thoroughly night after night. Dragging her hand through her hair for the hundredth time that night, she threw the rag on the bar and tried to will Mr. Politics to shut up already with her mind. She had been nodding and smiling for about two hours already and if the large tips he left meant anything, she was very convincing. But if she had to hear the name Monica Lewinsky one more time....
"Hey! Watch it, asshole!"
Well, that got her attention. She found the woman attached to the voice and quite openly stared. Mr. Politics, no longer having his audience, moved on to a table, and the oddest-looking woman sat in his place. She was about 5'6” with electric blue hair. A colorful tattoo snaked its way around the back of her neck, disappearing behind her shoulder. There was a ring with a bead through her left eyebrow, another through her right nostril, and a third through the right side of her bottom lip. Faith, in a moment of insanity, thought about what it would be like to thread a string through the hoops and control the woman's face like a marionette.
Temporarily amused she allowed her first real smile to cross her face. "What can I get you?"
"Cori...my name is Cori." She pointed out each woman at the table. "That's Debbie, Brandy, and that's Monica." Cori thought she heard the cute little bartender growl. "Can you send a couple of pitchers of Bass over to our table? I got the tab." Wow! She is something else. The dancer instantly saw the bartender in various stages of ecstasy. Faith glanced at the table of assorted women. "Sure, Cori. Glasses or mugs?" she smiled.
"Whatever..." Blue hair disappeared into the crowd.The bartender whistled to the waitress, who from the looks of things was going to get laid any second. Temporary...this is just temporary, she chanted as she weaved through the crowd with two pitchers and six mugs extended well over her head.
"Thanks. This new addition is the birthday girl, Honey, and we intend on celebrating tonight." Cori gestured to the pretty bleached blonde.
Honey? Brandy? What are they...hookers? "I'll keep an eye out for empties then, ladies. Happy birthday." She smiled and returned to the bar. What an odd bunch, she mused. That Cori is a piece of work. She shook her head and smiled again. Gotta get her story.
Reece casually dropped the 8-ball for the third time that night, to the hoots and sneers of the crowd. Pool was the only legal sport she excelled at. Living on the streets since the age of thirteen, she made quite a bundle street fighting in her youth and eventually matured into the best debt collector in town. Until she was busted. Enough of this, I need to get laid. She scanned the crowd of women surrounding her and swore she could smell the arousal.
As much as she hated it, she used women to play out her frustrations. With her wild libido, sex became the perfect way to release the tension. Not to mention the surge of adrenaline and extra strokes to her ego that came with it. There was always a willing participant. All the talk of the dark haired woman's sexual abilities made sure of that. Reece lived up to her reputation. She never disappointed and was fierce in bed. She had her limitations…she never went down on anyone. I don't eat what I don't know. It ain't worth dying for. It was her law. There were a few who tried to sway her, but otherwise, no one complained and she was never at a loss for partners. Besides, by the time she was done with them, they never missed it.
She placed the cue across the table and walked intentionally towards the bar. Needing to release the energy tonight, she waited to see who would follow her. She felt the hand on her lower back. Ah. Bingo! She turned casually and swallowed the woman with her gaze. Looking up into eyes of ice, the woman blinked twice and told Reece her name. Blue eyes narrowed as the hand on her back worked around to her stomach and fingernails traced her abs. Growling, she leaned into the hand and wrapped her fingers around the back of the woman’s neck. Pulling her nearly to her toes, she then bent down and took control of the offered mouth.
"How'd you like to get fucked?" she asked into an open mouth. A shudder was her only reply. The welcome feeling of power and adrenalin caused the taller woman to flare her nostrils. Yessss. Reece handed the stunned woman her helmet and guided her towards the door. Envious stares and dejected faces followed the pair on their path.
After the party had broken up, Cori had situated herself at the bar and was determined to get to know the adorable bartender. It was hard, but after a while the place emptied out and she was able to talk without shouting. Faith was born and raised in a very rich part of Long Island. She assumed the blonde was not on the best of terms with her family, or she wouldn't be working here. Why this place? She also learned that she was waiting for the role of her life to fall onto the big oak bar. Okay, so she was a bit naive. Smirking to herself, Cori figured she could teach her a few things. The more she looked at her, the more she realized that Faith was the exact woman Reece preferred. Blonde, green eyes, compact, fit. Okay, feisty wasn't on the boss' list of requirements but, hey, Cori liked feisty.
"So, Faith, what brings you to our fine city in the first place?"
The bartender looked up from washing glasses with a forced smile. "I needed to shake myself out of complacency."
"Uh huh. I knew it couldn't be the lure of piss-smelling subways and vomit in the park." Cori wasn't buying it. "Why..." She gestured to the door. "Why take a job in this neighborhood? Pardon me for assuming, but I think you're a mite too pure for Hell just yet."
Offended and caught, Faith shot back. "For your information, I took this job because it was close to home. And what makes you so sure I'm pure? You don't know me, and I really hope you're not basing your judgment on looks..."
"Home? You live here?" A hoop lifted with an eyebrow. No way!
"Yes. I live within walking distance. Now if you'll excuse me," Faith turned to finish cleaning but was stopped short by a belt loop caught on something. Reaching behind her she found a hand attached to fingers...looped through…. "Um, you can let go of me."
"Listen, Faith, I'm sorry. Sometimes my mouth gets ahead of me. I seem to get involved in peoples’ lives without their consent."
"No, actually I don't, that's my problem. Let’s start over. I like this bar and come here a lot. I've never seen you before and you just look a little out of place. I didn't mean any harm." Cori looked sincerely at softening green eyes.
Faith stuck out her hand. "Truce. I'm a little on the defensive myself," she admitted. "I'm tired, I'm hungry, and my pants are fermenting."
Shaking the offered hand, the dancer stood up to pull the backpack off her shoulder. Producing a pair of rumpled jeans, and a very tiny thong, she pushed it into the blonde’s chest. "Here, I always have clothes with me. Go change into this."
"Thank you! Oh God, you don't know how happy this makes me! I'll give them back, I promise. You know I've been here for months and I haven't met one single decent person yet."
Cori grinned at Faith's excitement. "Well, you're batting a thousand. Would you settle for slightly disturbed?"
"I'm pretty sure you're safe," a voice called from the kitchen. "They're a bit big, but they'll do. How the hell do you wear this thing all day?" The blonde came through the door with one hand tugging behind her in obvious discomfort.
Cori laughed. "You just pretend it’s not there. Eventually you forget about it. Besides, there's no panty lines."
"It doesn't feel like its not there. Ugh," she groaned. "My stomach is protesting. I gotta get food."
The dancer liked the blonde. It was a warm kinda feeling. A friend. She could easily care for her. "Wanna go for breakfast or something? My treat?"
"Yeah, I'd like that."
They grabbed the bartender's coat and headed out the door. "You wanna go to Christine's?" Faith offered.
"You bet. I'm starved about now. I'm glad I got money."
They both laughed this time. The sun was just rising as the strangest of friends made their way through the quiet streets.
Reece opened her eyes at exactly 9:58. It never failed. No matter what time the alarm was set for, she preceded it by mere minutes. She stretched her long body, anticipating the kinks and cramps from last night’s bout with Mary Lou Retton. Damn that girl could bend! Taking a mental inventory of her body, she felt pretty good. Nodding to herself, she left the comfort of the huge, cast iron, canopy bed and headed to the kitchen. As if detached from her body, her hands readied the coffee pot while she fought to keep her eyes open. Leaving the coffee to brew, Reece started towards the downstairs bathroom only banging her shin once on the dreadful table in the living room.
It was almost expected. Walk by the couch; knock your shin. For the life of her, she couldn't imagine a use for a table so close to the ground. This is how the house came to her and she kept it that way. "One day, though, I'll get around to that fuckin' table." Standing in the shower, the tall club owner made a mental note to herself to start buying furniture for humans. Just throw a few acrobats on that canopy bed and I can charge admission. She brought the washcloth between her legs and was not surprised that it felt good. No matter how many times she came with these women, it was never satisfying enough. It’s like a Tylenol for a toothache; it just takes the edge off. It never really goes away. She knew that one day it would be there; the all-encompassing feeling of a mind-blowing orgasm. She knew it was possible, but she was pretty sure that love had something to do with it. Actually, it was sort of the reason why she kept trying. Reece never needed love to accomplish anything, and this would be no different…she’d be the proof of that.
The aroma of coffee wafted under the door. Drawn like a moth to a flame, she wrapped her hair in a towel and walked naked towards the scent. This time she avoided the table. If she could, Reece would erect a shrine to Juan Valdez and worship the coffee bean.
Cori fell out of bed to the sounds of chaos filtering through her bedroom door. "Shit," she groaned. "Not again." Her roommates were having yet another loud argument. They were best of friends, had a brief romance, and now it was impossible to live with them. Monica left Debbie for a man and Debbie was pitiful for weeks. This is why friends should stay friends. She threatened to throw them out, but always relented when they promised to behave, but that never lasted. Cori played referee, devil's advocate, and Dr. Ruth until she gave up, announcing that they can kill each other for all she cares, as long as they do it quietly. And of course, not get blood on her couch. Throwing open the door and hoping to deter stained furniture, she stalked into the living room right into the path of a flying vase full of roses. The yelp of pain effectively silenced the two women.
"You know..." She picked the thorns out of her skin.
"...No." She held up a hand. "Its all fun and games until someone loses an eye." The dancer got to her feet and promptly fell back down with dizziness.
"Cori, I swear, it was an accident. It just slipped. Are you okay?" Monica, the thrower, was kneeling at her side.
"God, Monica, she's bleeding! You are such an asshole! What if you killed her!" Debbie yelled.
"I didn't mean it...the vase was too heavy…. "
Cori, who was not feeling all too well, thought she might mention that she was about to pass out.
"Um, ladies, I think I might hurl...." and she did.
"Ewww!" Both Debbie and Monica voiced their disgust.
Reece had been called off the leg press machine by the receptionist.
"Are you sure it’s for me? Who would call me at the gym?" she wondered.
"Hysterical woman says she's Monica and she thinks she killed Cori."
"What? Those fucking idiots! I told her to throw their asses out." Reece was at the phone in a flash.
"No...listen…Mon...but...MONICA! SHUT UP! What hospital? I'll be right over. Calm down, and stay away from Debbie ‘til I get there."
Aware that her mouth had gone dry and her heart was pounding more than it should, she realized with disdain that she was feeling fear. She actually cared about the dancer. "Christ!" she muttered, "I knew it. I let her get to me, and now I'm fucked." She flung open her locker. "Goody, I have a friend." She threw on her jacket and left.
Ugh. Reece was very uncomfortable and had a ways to go before she reached the hospital. Rumbling towards the Battery tunnel, she was feeling the cold bite through her soaking wet sweats. She hadn't bothered changing and was just now realizing the practicality of her chaps and boots in winter, not to mention a dry shirt. "This better be the last time I have to do this," she said out loud. "Those two are out of there tonight." Out of the tunnel and freezing, she fished money out of her jacket.
"Where the hell is Methodist Hospital?" she yelled a little louder than she should have at the guy in the tollbooth.
He shrugged in response. Welcome to fucking Brooklyn, she thought sarcastically.
Finally, after much cursing and the occasional finger, Reece found the hospital and a parking spot. Hmm, she thought, it doesn't smell like a hospital...or look like one. Practically running through the corridor, she found the three disheveled women walking towards her. Cori looked up at the sound of squeaky sneakers.
"You called her?" She was shocked. More so that Reese actually came all the way here.
"What the fuck happened?"
Monica hid behind Debbie, who hid behind the injured party.
"Well? Talk to me!" Blue eyes were fuming.
"The FTD guy took a wrong turn and flew into me."
The tall woman crossed her arms on her chest and tapped her foot. If looks could kill, they would be administering last rites in the hallway.
Monica started to cry. "It was an accident! It slipped..."
"Well, Monica, I don't think we have to worry about that happening again." Uncrossing her arms and putting each one around the cowering women's shoulders, she led them away from the dancer. "Go sit there for a sec...."
"Boss lady, really, it’s okay. We already talked about it..."
"...and they're moving tomorrow. Right? I don't need to worry about..."
"You were worried?" Cori was standing in front of the club owner. The other women took their chance and high tailed it out of there.
Reece walked over to the bench and put her helmet down. "Yeah, I was. You happy? Don't ask me why. I don't know yet myself..." She was cut off as arms grabbed her around the waist and a bloodstained bandage was under her chin.
"Why boss lady...if I didn't know better, I'd be inclined to think you cared about me," the dancer teased.
Reece threw her hands up in the air in protest.
Sensing the argument, her blue head looked up into a concerned face and said, "C'mon take me home. I'm okay. I just can't sleep tonight and I'm sure you can keep me awake." She wiggled her eyebrows, which made her head throb. She heard her new friend swallow nervously.
"Cori...I..." Reece backed away a step
"Stop, I'm just kidding. A night with you would kill me in my state." She tried to ease her friends discomfort, leaving herself wide open for the reply.
"It would kill you in Jersey, too." Reece took the bait.
"Ha ha," the dancer stated dryly. "Seriously though, I was wondering how long it would take for you to realize that you can care about someone and not have to fuck 'em. Really, Legs, I'm honored."
"I don't care about the people I fuck," she defended.
"You do now." Cori felt the body tense and silently gloated. "We can talk about my adventures in the bar last night. I met a sweet blonde you'd die for."
A dark eyebrow went up. "Yeah? Do tell." She grinned.
"Later. Let's just go, Arnold. You’re killing me with your pits."
"You'll have to sit in front. I need to keep my eye on you. "
"Oh, and your arms too. Didn't you ever hear of deodorant?"
"Shut up, Freak."
"Fuck you, asshole." Yes, this is going to be fun.
"Puke on my bike and I'll kill you."
"Can you feel the warmth? Thanks for your concern."
Faith was wandering through the West Village. This is more like it, she thought. The streets were much cleaner and tons quieter, the homes much nicer, the people friendlier. I could live here. No, I want to live here, she sighed. She wondered how this could be Manhattan. It looked as if it were a small town tucked into the city. Historic looking brownstones and redbricks lined the narrow, tree lined streets.
She wandered into the quaint little shops and bars, occasionally drawn to a Help Wanted sign. Unfortunately, with her clothes from the second hand stores, and her resume only being a bar in Alphabet City, Faith would not find employment here. She started to feel helpless and out of place, then angry at herself for it. God, get a grip girl! You wanted this! It was nearing time to get home and start the whole getting ready for work ritual. Work, she snorted. This isn't exactly how I pictured it.
Walking back towards the direction of the subway, the usually perky blonde was dragging her feet. She suddenly found herself feeling very homesick and horribly lonely. Acutely aware of where she was, and why. Tears started to fall and, try as she might; they wouldn't go away. Growing up, she was not allowed to show this kind of emotion. It wasn't proper or ladylike. Besides, it would embarrass her mother. Couldn't have that. So for the first time that she could remember Faith Ashford cried her eyes out, on the stoop of 12 Bank street, in someone else's jeans, and very alone.
To be continued... Part 3
Back to part 1
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