Lovers

What you see is not what is there. What is there is something else. – Unknown

Part One. Valerie

Frankie is in one of her preoccupied moods. Valerie concludes that as she lies with her head in Frankie's lap as Frankie studies some papers brought home in her briefcase. It's ten o'clock in the evening and the TV tube is now showing the evening news with the sound off. Valerie looks at the flashing pictures on the tube and she amuses herself attempting to discover what the people are saying. Of course it makes no difference whether you have the sound on or off, whatever the people are saying is ridiculous anyway.

With a sigh, Valerie slips her hand into Frankie's lap. Her fingertips tease the seam of Frankie's jeans. But nothing happens. She might as well be touching a stone statue for all the response she gets. Frankie's mind seems totally occupied with her paperwork, no evidence at all that Frankie is aware of Valerie's hand. No evidence before the bar, Valerie thinks. She feels both amusement and annoyance. Frankie is an attorney and she's always serious about her vocation. She's a tall studious looking woman with a distinctive dyke haircut and wire-rimmed eyeglasses. Despite her serious appearance, Frankie's fine-boned face gives her a special beauty and Valerie adores her.

Frankie has clear ivory skin and nipples like hard raspberries. Valerie adores serious women with fine faces and steady eyes. They've been lovers for two years and living together almost since the beginning. Valerie continues tickling the seam of Frankie's jeans, but Frankie remains apparently oblivious to it. Is the romance over? The idea the romance could be over frightens Valerie. She's twenty-five, a brunette with a pouting mouth she likes to paint a bright red, a slender but curvy body that drives the butches wild. She knows all about it. She can see the look in their eyes in the bars when they give her the once-over, that hungry dyke look that always makes her shiver. A lover once told her what it is. The contrast. A slender femme with full breasts can make certain butches crazy.

But Valerie thinks it has to be more than that because she has known women who were wild over her ass. Anyway, it's nice to be pretty and have a good body. She likes the attention. But of course it isn't the most important thing in the world. What is really important is a permanent relationship, a home, mutual giving. What is really important is peace of mind. The trouble is that even after living with Frankie two years not a day passes when Valerie isn't needy, as needy as a bitch in heat, pussy- dripping needy. If not every day, then every other day. Without fail. She expected Frankie to take care of that part of her life. Frankie takes care of her financially, but that isn't enough for Valerie.

It's fine that Frankie earns enough in her law practice to give them an easy life, but Valerie thinks Frankie ought to have more consideration for the physical side. Is that asking for too much? Isn't it ridiculous to be lying here tickling Frankie's crotch without any response from Frankie? Valerie watches the images on the television tube. A woman in a red bandanna now has her mouth going, talking without stopping, saying nothing about who knows what. All I want is affection, Valerie thinks. No, it's more than that. If all she wants is affection she'll buy a toy poodle. What she wants is good sex, the same marvelous hot sex she knows other women have. She wants Frankie to make her shake and moan until her bones are rattled. How can a woman have peace of mind without sexual fulfillment? No, it isn't possible.

When she's like this she's always so incredibly restless, no peace of mind at all. No peace of mind, Valerie thinks. With Frankie these days she never has it. She tries, though. She has no problem with Frankie when Frankie is interested. The problem is it never happens often enough, at least not enough to keep the demons out of Valerie's mind and her pussy happy. Frankie cares a great deal about her law practice, but she seems to care very little about the needy state of Valerie's poor little muffin. Twice a week on Wednesdays and Saturdays is just not enough to keep Valerie happy, to give her that look of happiness and completion that she sees on the faces of some of her friends. She thinks Frankie ought to take care of her needs. This way it's like some dead het marriage. Dead dyke marriage like a dead het marriage.

Serves you right, Valerie thinks, serves you right for settling down. She ought to be out there getting worked over by a different woman every night. She ought to be bouncing on beds with sweat on her forehead.

She tickles Frankie's crotch again, determined to get Frankie interested in something beside her paperwork. She can feel the bulge of Frankie's sex right through the fabric of Frankie's jeans. But no heat in there. She's had enough experience with Frankie to know from the feel of her crotch what state Frankie is in. At the moment, Frankie is far away somewhere, much too far away to be interested in anything sexual. Valerie tells herself maybe she ought to wait for another time, when suddenly Frankie moves the papers away from her face and she looks down at Valerie's hand.

"What's going on?" Frankie says. "Is today Wednesday?"

Valerie groans. "It's Tuesday. It's been Tuesday all day. You don't mind if I just lie here, do you? If it bothers you I'll stop." And then Valerie adds with a sarcastic smirk: "I wouldn't want to interfere with your work."

In a calm voice, Frankie says: "It's my work that supports us."

In a moment Frankie returns the papers to the front of her face. Valerie now assumes she has permission to continue doing what she's been doing, but she feels foolish about it. Here she is making a blatant effort to get Frankie interested in her, and all Frankie cares about is her damn paperwork. Determined not to give up, Valerie now rolls over to face Frankie's crotch.

Frankie groans. "Val, honey..."

"Just keep doing what you're doing. Pay no attention to me."

"That's hardly possible."

"Try it."

Valerie pulls at the zipper of Frankie's fly. The jeans are tight, but not tight enough to prevent her fingers from getting in there. She feels the crinkly bush through the panties, and then she strokes further down to the soft folds of Frankie's cunt.

Valerie says: "Let me get the jeans off."

And Frankie rustles her papers and groans again. "Oh, Val."

"Frankie, please..."

Valerie hates begging Frankie like this, but there seems to be no alternative. She rolls off the sofa to get Frankie's jeans off her legs, and then she stretches out again with her head in Frankie's lap and her excitement more intense than ever as she faces Frankie's panty-covered crotch.

In the beginning, when they first started living together, most of the sex involved Valerie remaining passive while Frankie took the lead in starting things and carrying things through and finishing things. In the beginning Frankie seemed to have only one objective in her mind and that was to make certain Valerie had the most pleasure possible out of every sexual encounter between them. Valerie isn't certain precisely when things changed, but after they were together a year she knew the sexual part of their relationship was no longer the same. Gradually it was no longer Frankie who initiated sex, it was Valerie, until finally one day Frankie said she needed her time to be more predictable so maybe they ought to agree to Wednesday and Saturday nights.

"We'll make Wednesday and Saturday nights just for us," Frankie said, which appealed to Valerie because at least she'd have those two nights with Frankie without Frankie ever complaining. The trouble was just two nights were not enough for Valerie, and before long she realized it and the two nights a week supposedly only for them became an agony for her whenever she wanted sex and it was neither Wednesday nor Saturday. It wasn't that Frankie was that rigid about the calendar, she wasn't, but it was always up to Valerie to make the move and take the chance that Frankie will reject her and leave her depressed, or even worse they'd have an argument about something trivial to hide the incongruence of their sexual attitudes.

Valerie now carefully tugs the crotch of Frankie's panties aside to expose the full lips of Frankie's cunt. Not much hair on the lips. More of it on the mound. Frankie has her papers in front of her face again, and Valerie has no idea what Frankie's response might be. She's afraid Frankie might stop her, but instead Frankie merely squirms a bit on the cushion without closing her thighs. Valerie tells herself thank god, maybe something will happen after all.

She has always adored Frankie's cunt. Frankie's clitoris is a luscious little knob just visible at the apex of the outer lips. Valerie thinks maybe later, when Frankie is aroused enough, she'll suck it, lick it with the flat of her tongue like an ice cream cone, then give it a tongue-whipping. But at the moment she intends to excite Frankie with her fingers first because Frankie has strange inhibitions about cunnilingus. Frankie likes doing it to Valerie, but whenever Valerie does it to Frankie, Frankie seems embarrassed. Which Valerie thinks is so sad. Next to being totally possessed by a woman's fingers and mouth, what Valerie likes most is licking and sucking a lover's cunt. How sad it is that Frankie has problems with it.

Using the tips of her fingers, Valerie carefully strokes the folds of Frankie's cunt until the outer lips part to reveal more of the inside. Hardly any wetness. Just a hint of moisture lower down where the vaginal opening gapes slightly because Frankie once had a child that died in infancy. Something never discussed. Never mentioned. But always in the mind of Valerie whenever she looks closely at Frankie's vagina. She looks at the opening and she thinks how wondrous it is that a child came out of there. Miracles.

Valerie has an urge to suck Frankie now. Or at least to lick her everywhere. Make her moan. It might work, but Frankie might also get angry. Valerie wonders why in hell she ever agreed to live with a woman, to marry a woman whose interest in sex is less than her own.

No, not yet, she thinks. She won't give up the ghost yet. She tugs the crotch of Frankie's panties back into place and she rises from Frankie's lap. "I'll be right back," Valerie says.

Frankie rustles her papers and mumbles something, as if she assumes Valerie is merely off to the bathroom.

But Valerie has something else in mind. When she reaches the bedroom it isn't the adjoining bathroom she wants but one of the drawers in the large bureau they share. Frankie has half the drawers, Valerie has the others. From one of her own drawers, Valerie pulls out a black lace garter belt and a pair of sheer charcoal stockings. Skimpy feminine lace and nylon. Never mind the politics, Valerie doesn't give a damn about lesbian politics. She believes nothing can be wrong with doing something if it turns her on or turns on her lover. Never mind the pompous dykes who think they know what every woman needs. She has enticed Frankie with these items often enough to know they can work.

That was especially true in the beginning of their romance when Frankie was less constrained about playing games during sex, less inhibited about Valerie dressing up to excite them both with the accoutrements of feminine availability. These days Frankie is more political and she often seems embarrassed by the feminine trappings, as if she indeed thinks sexy lingerie is out of place in a true lesbian relationship. A notion that Valerie thinks ridiculous. Who the hell can identify a true lesbian relationship? But she never debates with Frankie because Frankie after all is a lawyer. Only idiots debate with lawyers.

Valerie hopes the frills might work tonight. She quickly strips her clothes off and she studies herself in the full-length mirror attached to the bathroom door. Still attractive, isn't she? Still young enough to look good from any angle. Five-eight is a good height. As long as she keeps her weight down her body looks slender and trim. She runs her fingers over the undersides of her full breasts. Watching herself in the mirror. Jiggling the firm globes and smiling at the way the tips vibrate. Unable to resist the urge to use her mouth, she raises her right breast with her hand and she swabs her tongue over the long nipple, wetting it down, then taking the nipple between her teeth to suck on it briefly. god, she needs something tonight!

She runs her hands over her hips and back to the firm flesh of her buttocks. She tells herself Frankie is a fool not to appreciate her more. There are women out there who would do plenty. She slides her fingers into the curls of the dark muff beneath her belly. Her pubic triangle is thick enough to completely hide her labia. She remembers a woman she knew who shaved everything, the lips clean and silky and exposed. On occasion Valerie trims some of the hair away to show more of herself, but she's a brunette and she doubts her dark lips would look better without hair. Still, it might be worth trying sometime just to amuse herself. Maybe shock Frankie who isn't that experienced. Would Frankie be shocked? As far as Valerie knows, she's Frankie's first serious lover. But Frankie hardly ever talks about the other women she has known.

Now Valerie touches herself again, aware of her wet pussy, the juice trickling between her thighs, the fountain flowing the way it always does when she's this turned on. But she resists the urge to stroke herself. She turns to the garter belt and stockings, sits down on the edge of the bed and starts pulling on the stockings. Making her legs sleek. And exciting herself doing it. By the time she finishes hooking the stockings to the garter belt her pussy is wetter than ever. She brings a pair of heels out of the closet, sexy red pumps she hasn't worn in ages. She slips her feet into them, looks at her legs in the sheer charcoal stockings, her sleek legs, then searches the closet again to find the black negligee Frankie bought her shortly after they became lovers.

Valerie remembers now how embarrassed Frankie seemed giving her the negligee, Frankie blushing when Valerie pulled the fluffy thing out of the box and squealed with joy that she loved negligees. Happy she could wear one and look good in it. Now slipping into the black negligee. She ties the front bow and then she does a whirl in front of the full length mirror to see the effect. After that she puts some fresh lipstick on her lips, bright red, not too much because Frankie never likes her to overdo it. Valerie tells herself she'll cry if this doesn't work. She will truly cry if this fails to get Frankie interested.

High heels clicking on the parquet floor, Valerie walks into the living room aware of how she looks, the red heels, the stockings, her dark nipples and dark bush revealed by the sheer negligee. Frankie glances up from the papers in her hands, her eyes showing immediately surprise.

"Good god, Val."

"Just an urge to dress up," Valerie says. "You don't mind, do you? I thought you might like it." She does a turn that sends the negligee swirling around her nylon-clad legs. "Do you like my legs?"

"You know I like your legs." Frankie's eyes take in the legs and the high heels and the negligee and she seems flustered. "You look fabulous, but I do need to read these briefs. And it's not Wednesday, you know."

"I won't bother you, Frankie, I promise."

"Honey, I can't work while you're parading around like that. Just give me an hour, okay? I'll see you in an hour in the bedroom."

Crushed, Valerie turns and walks back to the bedroom and shuts the door. What I need is a lover, she thinks, someone outside the relationship she has with Frankie, someone outside her marriage to Frankie. Her crumbling marriage. Because that's what it is, isn't it? A crumbling marriage. She loves Frankie and she can't imagine not living with her, but she just can't go on like this. She never imagined she'd ever want any woman but Frankie, but getting a lover seems the only way to keep her sanity.

Now she slips the negligee off and she studies herself in the long mirror again, looks at herself wearing the garter belt and nylons, at the erotic image of her dark bush framed by black lace. Pathetic, isn't she? A whimper of frustration comes out of her throat as she realizes how aroused she is. She cups her buttocks with her hands, squeezing and pinching the firm globes. Then she moves both hands around to the front and she pinches her cunt with her fingers. She moans softly as she feels how wet she is. She starts gyrating her hips in front of the mirror, her eyes fixed on her hairy sex. Ever so slowly, she pulls her thick labia open with her fingers to reveal the quivering bud of her clit.

Oh god, look at it, look how swollen it is. One touch and she'll come immediately. Instead, she moves her hands away, her palms sliding over her body to keep the tension rising. Thank god she knows how to pleasure herself when she needs it. She'd surely go crazy without it. Just her vag, she thinks. If she keeps her fingers away from her clit, she can play with her cunt and delay things as long as she wants. She always needs something in there. She slips her fingers down, probes around the vaginal entrance, stretches it a bit, then pushes her fingers inside and jerks her pelvis forward because it feels so good.

She moans. She uses her left hand to lift her right breast. Watching herself in the mirror, she lowers her head and licks the nipple until it gleams with her saliva. Both nipples are stiff and swollen. She quivers as her eyes take in the way the black straps of her garter belt frame her bush. Her long legs look so sleek and lovely in the sheer charcoal stockings, her calves exquisitely flexed by the four-inch heels of the red pumps. After turning sideways, she looks over her shoulder at the shape of her ass, then cups a hand over one buttock and jiggles it. Will she ever be able to find a lover who can give her body the attention it deserves?

Now she leaves the mirror and she falls across the bed on her back with her thighs wide open. With a soft moan she slides her hands down over her body to the steaming flower of her cunt. She gasps and jerks, her hips arching upward as she closes her right hand over the hot mound of her pussy and slowly massages the dripping lips. How she loves the feel of her wetness beneath her fingers! Her cunt is loose and quivering now, ready to be loved and cuddled and provided with ecstasies. She spreads her throbbing labia and dips her fingers inside her vaginal opening. She groans as a delicious hot spasm washes over her body. Stretching the mouth of her cunt with a screwing motion of her fingers, she gradually slips her fingers deeper and deeper inside her canal.

She can feel the muscles in there grabbing at her fingers. Her eyes closed, her mouth open, she spreads her quivering thighs wide apart as she imagines she has a lover between her legs, a woman with a hard body and a long tongue, a tongue long enough and thick enough to fill her completely, and a tongue strong enough to lap her clit as long as she needs it. Valerie shudders as she starts stabbing her fingers in and out, twisting them enough to stretch the tissues around her clit and bring her closer and closer to an intense orgasm. Waves of pleasure engulf her senses. She bucks her hips, fucking back at her pumping hand, her fingers making a wet sound each time they plunge inward.

Suddenly the bedroom door opens, Frankie steps into the room and then freezes as she takes in the scene.

Valerie cries out, jerks her hand away from her crotch and rolls over on her belly with a groan. "Frankie, why don't you knock?"