Impact 23 Of Soixante Neuf

For those who pay attention to such things: When Sarah is alone the story is in the past tense. When Claire and Sarah are together the story is in present tense.

Thanks to HaltWhoGoesThere for copy editing.

Impact of Soixante-Neuf

Transcribing the notes and redrawing the sketches I made at the beach, I was pleasantly surprised by how coherent my thoughts had been. As stoned as I'd been, my little doodles and paragraphs of marginalia actually made sense to my sober-self!

I spent a couple hours turning the sketches into more fully realized - and legible - renderings and then copying notes into my laptop as bullet point text. I also did two gouache color studies, which turned out really well. Still energized, I dove back into the book, almost finishing the last section.

Claire had texted me a bunch of funny links to "dog shaming" videos, so I decided to take a break and call her back before it got too late.

"I like the way the black lab smiles and squints!" I tell her.

"Sooo guilty!" she laughs. Her voice is gravelly and low from last night's cigarettes and hijinks... she sounds super sexy.

"SO guilty," I agree.

"Did you get lots done?"

"I did- I mean,

I am!

- I'm still working. But, yeah, it's going super well!" I say, laughing and launching into an excited description of everything I'd been doing, but she cuts me off.

"Have you eaten anything today, Sarah?" she asks suspiciously.

I had to think about it. Claire pounces on my momentary hesitation

"You have NOT!" she laughs.

"I mean, with Helen?" I say lamely.

"I knew it!"

"How do you know?"

"Because, if you had, you would have immediately told me about what you had, where you got it, and how you prepared it!"

This makes me laugh, because that did, in fact, sound very much like me.

"I've been busy?"

"So nothing but mimosas and a... bowl of yogurt! Twelve... nooo... thirteen hours ago!"

"How did you kno-"

"Because I know YOU!" she crows. "Eat now, while I'm on the phone."

She's really enjoying this.

"That's gross."

"I like the sound of your mouth!"

That makes me laugh again because it sounds very much like her.

"What's in your fridge?" she presses.

Happily, I go to my kitchen, sliding across the floor in my stocking feet like a six-year-old. Cradling the phone on my neck I opened the fridge. I tell her about my hummus and the wilted salad I had left over from my lunch with Kip. It looks weirdly appetizing.

'I'm hungry,' I realize.

I check the freezer and find a package of naan and some strawberry ice cream.

"Slim pickings..." I sigh

"A feast!" Claire insists.

I put everything on the counter and pulled a skillet from the cabinet. Heating the naan, I listen while she tells me about her day, which mostly involves phone calls.

Claire listens to me eat, telling me about her call with Brigitte, who is stressing her out about her visit and the wedding.

"I can top that!" I interject, with a mouth full of supernaturally delicious wilted salad. "Wait till you hear about my call with my mother!"

I tell her the whole thing, all the gory details.

"I suck, right?"

"You should call Amelia back," she advises. "You'll both sleep better."

"I don't want to sleep alone tonight," I blurt, surprising myself.

"Why, what's wrong?" she asks, real concern in her voice. "Why do you sound sad all of a sudden?"

"I've just been fighting with myself all day," I tell her. "Old stuff."

"Hmmph..." she chuffs suspiciously, but then her tone brightens. "Alright!" she agrees, almost singing the word. "Give me time to pack up and I'll head your way."

Right after we hung up, I called Amelia. She sounded sleepy when she picked up, but insisted she hadn't been asleep.

"I'm sorry I got so upset, Mom. I shouldn't have yelled," I told her.

"I'm glad you did," she said. "I'm doing my best Sarah, but I make mistakes. I'm lucky to have you - I'm going to find someone for Kelly to talk to, not a pediatrician! - a therapist, a woman therapist"

That made me laugh.

"Yay! I love you, Mom!"

"I love you with all my heart, Sarah!"

"Really though, I apologize. I know you're doing your best, and that things are hard right now. I really hate that I might have made your day any harder."

She assured me everything was fine and then launched into the story of her dinner the night before with her boss, Marcia. While I was listening I started to gather my shopping bags. I had piled them onto the loveseat when I got home and needed to move them to the bedroom and stash everything before Claire arrived.

"What's that noise?" Amelia wanted to know.

"Sorry," I said, making myself still. "It's shopping bags. I bought a bunch of stuff for the apartment, for Claire's visit."

"Visit?"

Had I not told my mom yet?!?

"Um...yeah?" I started. "Her mother and stepfather are coming and are going to stay at her place? There's a big wedding upstate, old family friends... So she'll stay with me?"

"Oh, that's so fun! You'll meet Brigitte!"

"I know, right?"

She sounded genuinely enthused - I never know what to expect from her.

"Are you... going to the wedding?" she asked, putting two and two together.

"I am."

"What are you wearing?" she wanted to know. She's stalling for time.

"I haven't decided... I thought I might borrow something from Claire - just for fun?"

There was a longer pause now. She was gathering her courage. I could feel it coming...

"Are you going together?" she asked, "I mean, as her date?"

I could picture her face, carefully neutral. She was trying not to sound worried.

"Yeah," I told her "I am."

I closed my eyes, braced for the worst.

"You are so brave, Sarah."

Her voice was quiet, but she didn't sound upset, she actually sounded admiring...

"Mom, I'm just-"

"Now, tell me what you got for her visit!" she demanded, cutting me off and changing the subject. I had pushed her MORE than enough for one day and let her have her way.

"It's a lot!" I admitted, grimacing for comic effect, even though she couldn't see me. "It took me two trips to get everything up the stairs."

I started with the hangers. Telling Mom about the rack and how I totally overdid it at

Bed Bath and Beyond.

"How many did you get?" she asked, sounding a little worried - they had made a loud clatter as I dumped them all out on the bed.

"God, Mom," I start, looking down at all the six packs. "I think maybe... eighty?"

This made her giddy.

"EIGHTY?!"

she laughed. "You said she's only staying two weeks! Why for goodness sake?!"

"I know!" I whinged, as I started the process of breaking apart the packs from their glossy cardstock folders and hanging them on the rack.

"She just has so many beautiful things..." I told her in my defense, but then realized it was silly to rationalize. "I really don't know! Do you think she'll think I'm nuts?...I just don't want her to feel cramped, I think?"

"She won't think you're nuts," she assured me. "But I might!"

She was still laughing and teasing me as I returned to the loveseat for more bags. I told her all about

Century Twenty-One,

which she wants to visit, "next time I'm in the city!"

"It's chaos," I warned her in mock seriousness.

The last time she was here, it was to help me move out of the basement apartment in Hoboken I'd rented with Danny. All we did was move and clean. She had been furious, I couldn't stop crying. It had been a death march.

"Wes and Kelly are old enough to be on their own," I suggested. "You could come for a weekend... we could see a show!"

"I'd like that," she sounded like she was imagining it, realizing that it was possible. "The last time I saw anything on Broadway you were a toddler..."

I tell her all about the designer sheets and spa towel sets as I unpack them and pile them on the bed.

"They're huge! They look like fluffy white terrycloth ziggurats," I told her, looking at the twin stacks I'd made. "I got bath towels, bath mats, hand towels, face towels, washcloths, AND charcoal-infused makeup washcloths!"

"You're adulting!"

"I am!"

I was a little more circumspect telling her about my new blouse and underpants, but she knows how hard it is for me to find bras and wanted details.

"I found them in the Juniors Department?" I admitted. That both surprised and pleased her - I think she liked the idea of me still being a little girl. "They're just plain white cotton, but I love them, they're super cute!"

I didn't tell her about the Mary Janes, which I hid under the bed. I wasn't ready for Claire to see those. Likewise, the new panties and bras, which I buried at the bottom of my underwear drawer. I stashed the blouse in my computer bag. If there was time tomorrow I'd get it altered.

Amelia didn't believe that the sheets were "Tommy Hilfiger" so I took a picture and sent it to her

"The branding is silly," I admitted as I tore them open, "but all

Century Twenty-One

sells is designer labels, so I guess the sheets have to be designer brands too? I don't know... Anyway they're really nice!"

I started to strip the bed. It was getting hard to hold the phone and she could tell so we said our goodnights

"I'm so glad you called, Sarah. I feel so much better."

"Me too, Mom. We have Claire to thank for that, she told me to call, that we would both sleep better."

"She's a good person."

It wasn't a question, but I agreed.

"She really is, Mom."

As late as it was, it was still hot enough that even handling the duvet was oppressive. I put the new cover on it and made up the bed with it but with a flat sheet under it. I wanted it to look pretty when Claire arrived, but we wouldn't be able to sleep with it on the bed.

Most of the flowers Ben and Janet had given me on Friday were still fresh. I threw out the wilting ones and split the rest into two matching bouquets, trimming the stems short and arranging them into two smaller vases. I then set one on each of my bedside tables.

Claire texted that she still hadn't left her place, but she was about to get a cab. She must have been ready for bed and had to change. I felt bad for asking her to come and told her so; that she shouldn't come. She wouldn't hear any of it, texting back:

I don't have to be in till late tomorrow, I will sleep late and dream of you in your bed. See you soon!

I sincerely didn't want to drag her out so late but I was profoundly relieved she insisted on gecoming. I didn't want to be alone with my thoughts all night.

I took a cool shower and was cleaned up and changed for bed when I got her text that she was on her way.

I sat down at the little oak table and went over what I'd done one last time. I considered dumping it all onto our shared workspace but thought better of it. I didn't want to spring what I'd done on Keith. I wanted to present my ideas as best I could, in person.

I was in good shape!

"The

nightie!"

Claire enthuses.

She is in a thin white baby-T that says, "Brian Eno" - I don't know who that is, but his picture on the shirtfront looks like Riff Raff the hunchback from

The Rocky Horror Picture Show

but with Betty Page bangs. It doesn't matter. The little shirt is tight. She isn't wearing a bra and her nipples stab at the thin fabric. She looks super fucking hot.

The little shirt's hem sits an inch or two above her belly button and her belt sits a few inches below. Her belly is tan and smooth. She's wearing low-rise hip hugger jeans - I don't think I've ever seen her in jeans before. The denim is straining to grip her crotch and ass. The cut squeezes her thighs so the space between her legs is exaggerated and her quads seem to bulge away from her groin. They make her legs look... shapely and powerful.

Simple white canvas tennis shoes complete the ensemble.

Her face is clean, no makeup, but her skin and lips are dewy with product. Her hair is pulled carelessly back into a low loose ponytail, just enough to keep her hair out of her eyes. I feel a surge of guilt. She was

all

ready for bed.

I tug at the hem of my nightie and smile at her enthusiasm, but I can't stop myself from apologizing again.

"I'm so sorry I dragged you out-"

"No!" Claire says, cutting me off. "Imagine if the roles were reversed and I told you I didn't want to be alone?"

This does in fact stop the surge of guilt so entirely I'm almost surprised. She sees it on my face and smiles approvingly.

"Come now," she hushes. "It's late. Let's get my Young Sarah in bed, she needs her sleep!"

I let her lead me into the bedroom, and watch her stop, her head rear back a little in surprise and confusion.

"What's?" is all she gets out. She is staring at the rolling rack, agog.

"You'll need space for your things," I tell her. "I emptied drawers for you too," I say, gesturing at my chest of drawers. "I didn't want you living out of a suitcase for two weeks."

"How many hangers is that?"

"Eighty... I think."

"And flowers?!?" she exclaims, seeing the bouquets. "Sarah Beth!"

She turns and hugs me.

"How did you do all this?" she asks. "When did you have time?!?"

"Wait till you see the towels!"

Claire is ecstatic and clearly moved. I tell her I want her to feel comfortable, not to feel shoehorned in. She thanks me with wet kisses and soft looks, her arms around my waist, hands draped over my tush.

"We fit very nicely together," she says. And it's true.

The buckle of her belt is pressing into my belly. I am holding her by the ass, which feels strong and firm. The denim of her jeans is coarse under my palms, so substantial and tough compared to the flimsy stuff of my nightie.

"Thank you for coming," I say. Our lips are very close. She is smiling at me, but her eyes look worried.

"What's wrong?" she asks. "Why don't you want to be alone?"

"Nothing... everything?" I admit. "Just the Sunday Scaries?"

"What are 'Sunday Scaries'?"

"An Ali thing?"

"Rebekah's Ali?"

"Mnm," I agree, taken by the idea that, for Claire, Ali is Rebekah's. I wonder if that was true.

"The Scaries are that awful feeling when you drink too much and want to apologize for everything?"

"What does my Young Sarah want to apologize for?"

"No! Nothing. I just... everything was just all stirred up today. I've been beating myself up all day... old stuff."

"Danny?"

"Yeah, but not just... just everything; ancient history. I'm overtired, I think, and I missed you, is that OK?

"More than OK," she whispers. "Let's get you to bed, put you to sleep."

I reach for her belt and she lets me unbuckle it. I undo her fly, pull it open, and then she helps me push her jeans down off her hips.

The front of her panties are as flat as her belly, no mound of pubic hair. The gusset is creased where they have pulled between her puffy lips.

I slip my fingers under her waistband, touch the smooth firm skin of her mons, stroke the softer more fragile skin on her lips; no hint of stubble or any other imperfection.

"I love that you do this for me."

"No bikini line worries is nice," she teases.

"I like how it feels on my mouth," I tell her.

"I know you do, dear Sarah, and I love that it pleases you."

She pulls her T-shirt over her head, her nipples are stiff and shine darkly.

"I wish I had breasts like yours," I sigh.

"You do," she says, cupping hers in her hands. "These are yours."

Dropping her hands, she asks, "What do you need for bed? Water? Anything?"

"Water," I answer, as she shoos me into bed. I watch her disappear into the other room. I hear her run the tap, and rifling the fridge for ice as I strip the duvet from the bed and pile it on the floor. The living room lights go out as I slip out of the nightie and climb into bed. She reemerges with two glasses.

"Glaçe," she says, offering me mine. "Sans glaçe," she says, raising hers in toast and turning off the bedroom light.

It's only as she is climbing into bed, that she notices the sheets.

"New sheets too?"

"New today! I thought it would be nice for your visit." I admit.

"Sarah!"

Now she's verklempt.

"What's wrong?"

"I was afraid you were upset because of... the weekend and... The Bull!"

"No!"

"Really?" she asks, she's on her knees next to me on the bed, holding my face in her hands. "I was scared it was too much."

"Well... it

was

too much," I tease earnestly, "but that was the whole point, wasn't it?"

"Ha!" she barks. "This is true I suppose..."

She guides me back onto the pillows, laying on the sheets next to me smiling with relief. We are facing each other, our foreheads and knees touching arms bent so our fingers are intertwined just beneath our chins.

"I love The Bull," I reassure her. "She is so powerful and strong, unflagging..."

"Stamina?" she asks coyly, kissing me.

Her lips are moist and a little tacky with a balm, and her skin has the delicate scent of her night cream. I imagine her looking at herself, smoothing it into her cheeks, taking care around her eyes, preparing herself for sleep. Her lips I imagine her doing in the cab, preparing herself for me

"Capacity!" I hiss, showing her my teeth.

"Appetite?" she whispers, her breath shallow.

Our fingers are twined tighter now, we are clutching each other, as if we were afraid of what's next.

"Insatiable!" I answer.

I start to move down the bed, Claire doesn't stop me but she starts to move as well, lifting herself onto her hands and raising herself over me. I stop, confused, but that seems to suit her. She pushes at my hip, laying me onto my back, turning herself around in the bed. I feel a thrill as she raises a knee and I realize what she's doing. Lifting her leg over my head she straddles my face.

I make a small squeal of excitement!

"You know it's French?" Claire had asked me the night before.

It was a non sequitur.

She and I had been drinking water; the two of us were slick with sweat and panting. The fleshy blue Bull lay on the bed between us like an obscene tantric idol.

"What's French?" I asked, taking the bait.

"Soixante-neuf,"

she said, the ghost of a smile haunting her lips. She was tired, not sleepy, but weary. She had fucked me hard and long.

"Sixty-nine?" I asked. We had talked about positions before. I knew she didn't mean the number. But just saying it made my breath catch, made my voice rise. "I- I think it's very old..." I sputtered, picturing images on amphora.

"As old as time," Claire agreed. "But a revolutionary courtesan was the first to refer to it by its resemblance to the numbers* - that's French;

soixante-neuf,

this is ours! The English borrowed and Anglicized..."

A sly look came over her eyes, and I wondered if we were done playing with The Bull. My whole body is flush at the image of Claire embracing me in a sixty-nine...

"What's it called in Sanskrit?" she asked, shaking me from my reverie.

"Umm... Congress of a crow," I told her.

She had made a sour little face of disapproval.

"I prefer

soixante-neuf."

"I do too."

I was so flush with the idea of her sixty-nining me, my ears felt hot. But then she told me to lube The Bull up, that she was going to fuck me from behind. The image of sixty-nining Claire has floated at the edges of my imagination, probably since the moment we met. But as I lathered the giant toy with lube and gently slid the Tulip phallus into Claire no part of me was disappointed because I knew that she never made idle threats. She would not have waved

soixante-neuf

in my face unless she intended to go through with it.

So I got on my hands and knees and she fucked me like a girl. She came threatening to fuck my ass...