[Dear reader: This continues where ch.3 left off. Some points of ambiguity might be resolved if you read that first. With or without chapter 3, I hope you enjoy it.]
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Micca and I just lay there, holding each other gently, not eager to get up. Maybe she or I dozed; the sound of rain made it easy. A few chunks of fruit remained from our breakfast earlier. I fed them to Micca and myself, alternating with small kisses and nibbles. Micca just lay, in happy exhaustion. I loved seeing my friend like that. Seeing her satisfied like that had an effect on me, too. It spawned a luscious sense of hunger, the kind that seemed to radiate out from between my legs.
After a while, I got up. I pulled on that big, comfy T-shirt, and carried our breakfast things to the sink. This studio apartment is too small for two messes at a time, so I washed up and set the dishes to dry. Just as I was finishing, I heard Micca get out of bed and come up behind me. I yelped and nearly dropped the dish when I felt her cool hand on my bare bottom.
"Michaela! You almost …" I started to say something.
"Shh, girlfriend." Her hand cupped my bottom, even as her other arm wrapped around my waist, up under my shirt. I felt her soft, heavy breasts against my back as she pulled me closer. She leaned over to nibble my ear, and whispered. "Did you know that this shirt rides up in the back?"
"Does it?" In truth, I thought it covered me, mostly. I suddenly understood those looks, the warm, longing looks I had seen on her when I wore this shirt.
"Yes, and it shows the cutest little buns in the world." She jiggled my butt with her hand, then moved around to hold me in front. She pulled my hips back, against the warmth of her lap. "Every time I see it, I want to reach over and touch it."
"Is that all you want?"
"No, Lin, it makes me want to hold you close." The hug shifted. The higher hand held my breast from underneath, and the lower one covered my pubis. "It makes me want to feel your body against mine, and feel you get excited."
The hand on my breast clasped the nipple between thumb and fingertip, rolling it gently. The hand between my legs massaged my vulva, so I could feel the inner folds shifting under her touch. I set the dish and towel down, so I wouldn't drop them. "Micca, do you know how excited I am already?"
"I'm getting a pretty good idea. This," she tweaked the upright nipple, "says a lot. And this," her hand cupped my vulva more tightly, "feels pillowy and warm. It only feels that way when your body wants something. And this," a finger pressed easily between my labia, "feels deep and slick."
She was right. Her fingertip ran up and down between my labia, opening me without really entering. I felt her spread the slickness, and work it along the rising crease of my clitoris. My knees almost went out from under me at that touch. It didn't end; she pressed hard against it, rocking it under the soft pad of her finger. I hadn't realized just how much Micca's earlier display had affected me.
"Micca, let me …" She didn't let me finish.
"Lin, let me. I want to feel you in my arms, feel you come. Is that OK? May I do that for you?"
I leaned over the counter, tilting my hips back into her thighs. I couldn't trust my voice by that point, so I just put my hand between my legs, over hers. My touch said that hers was where I wanted it. I spread my legs a little more and caressed the back of her hand.
As new as she was to making love like this, Micca's touch felt perfect. One hand massaged my breast, with occasional rasps of her nails at the tips. The other flickered over my clit, as if pouring the waves of tension into my vagina. Her touch roamed at times, collecting more moisture, keeping the friction light and slick. Both hands pulled me close, as if enveloping my small body in her larger one.
I don't often stand during sex. The extra tension in my legs added a dimension. Instead of just rocking my hips, I felt my knees flex. Soon, my body demanded more. Instead of just touching the hand she held between my legs, I pushed it harder. I reached down, too, to press against my vagina as she held my labia and tickled my clit.
Far sooner than I expect, orgasm burned inside me. If she hadn't supported me, my bucking legs might not have held me up. My finger drove inward, forcing itself against my inner muscles. My whole body arched against hers. I felt a tug at my nipple, the kind that would have been too hard a moment earlier, and warm breath where my neck and shoulder joined. I rode that wave, then the next, and the one after that. More waves came over me too, but not with such crashing effect. My voice returned. I panted between the bursts of intensity, and moaned within them.
In a moment, my body nearly collapsed. I leaned onto the counter, supporting myself on both elbows. Micca's grip around me unwound partway, but continued to hold my bottom against her warm thighs. She could no longer hold my breast, but stroked my shoulders and back. I held her other hand in the warmth where my thighs parted, as if holding the last tremors of orgasm inside. Soon, even that faded into a happy glow. I pulled her hand away, up toward my lips. I kissed those long, loving fingers, and tasted my own sweet musk on them.
Soon, I could trust my legs again. Still leaning against the counter, I turned to face Micca. She's taller than me but her breasts lie lower on her chest, so hers and mine pressed together. I reached up to kiss her, to share a little of the taste on my lips. She returned the kiss with soft, wide warmth.
She looked at me and said, "I owed you one. More maybe, but I hope that's a good start."
"You don't owe me anything. And yes, it was very good." We stood there a moment longer, holding the warmth between us and rocking a little, almost like slow dancing. The low rustle of rain seemed to isolate us from the world, creating an insulating cocoon around us. Come to think of it, the rain was quieter than before, and had stopped coming in waves.
I looked up and asked, "It sounds quieter out there. Do you want to go out?"
"You mean running?"
"No, it's still to wet for that, but it sounds like an umbrella would let us do the galleries."
"OK, I'm up for it." She sniffed, and added, "But I hope you don't want to go smelling like this."
"I thought you liked my smell." I teased her with a cartoony pout.
"I do, but I'm afraid every guy on the block will too, and I don't feel like sharing." She tugged my pelvis against hers as she said it.
"Well, I guess that's OK." I teased again. "Let's get showers before we go."
"Showers plural? I hoped one would do for the two of us."
"Sorry, that's what I meant." We let go of each other and started into the bathroom.
Micca adjusted the water while I got towels out. Drying my hair would take too long, so I twisted it into a high bun and stuck a barrette in it. We washed each other, taking a little extra time for play. Micca seemed different, somehow, more attuned to me than usual. Each time I touched her, she would lean or open up to make it easier for me, as if hoping for something more. I pressed one finger up inside her while washing between her legs; it slid in easily. She nibbled her lip when I did and put her hands on my shoulders, but didn't resist at all. I tugged gently, pulling her close for a kiss, then released her. We played with the sprayer a little, then finished and dried each other.
Micca dressed in a calf-length white skirt. Eyelets near the hem and white embroidery gave it a feminine look. Above that, she wore a gray, ribbed tank top with wide shoulder straps. The ribs widened where the shirt stretched over her curves, giving emphasis she hardly needed. I picked a denim skirt, a little above the knee. On top, I wore a short-sleeve button-down shirt over a white tube top. I liked the look with the shirt tucked in and open down to the bottom button. I also liked the looks I always got when I wore that, especially when I folded the tube top lengthwise to make it even narrower. It didn't cover much that way, but I don't have much to cover. A girl has to do the best with what she's got, right?
On the way out of the apartment, Micca and I both stepped into sandals that wouldn't mind the wet. She led the way out so I could lock up behind us. Her lovely, wide hips swayed as she walked in front of me. The swinging skirt swayed with her, making me think of a church bell. She opened the umbrella at the bottom of the stairs, and we set out.
We had to stay close to keep both of us dry, but that was easy. It felt right, too. I wanted to feel close to Micca that day, and she seemed to want the same. I still felt sense I had earlier, that she was more attuned to me than usual. I liked it. It made me feel cared for. But it gave some other feeling, too, as if Micca were expecting something from me, or looking for something. That seemed silly, so I turned and gave her a little peck of a kiss. Her response, as if starting to melt from that little touch, didn't make the feeling go away. It wasn't a bad feeling, just a little funny.
The galleries in this college town cover the whole range, from funky and edgy, to the great masters (old and new), to art that goes with the furniture. Coffee shops and other local stores often put work by local artists on their walls, too. It doesn't cost anything to look, and there's plenty to fill a day with, or at least a rainy afternoon like ours. Also, one of Micca's friends was opening a show of her paintings at one of the coffee shops. We stopped in to pay our respects – and to get some free wine and cheese at the opening.
The farmers' market was our last stop before heading back. The overcast sky darkened as evening approached; the summer rain took on an un-summery chill. We picked up a few things for supper, then splurged on some wine bottled locally – a white and a red.
If we had been just a little faster or a few minutes earlier, we would have missed the downpour. As it was, the rain picked up when we were about ten minutes from home, driven almost sideways by gusting wind. My shirt plastered itself to my back and chest; Micca's skirt took on a bedraggled look. It also turned almost transparent where it clung wetly to her. It could have been worse. Her undies were clearly visible through the thin, wet cotton, but it would have been equally visible if she weren't wearing any.
We headed straight to the bathroom as soon as we got in and peeled off our wet things. Micca seemed especially eager to get the sodden bra off. "Something about that one really chafes when it gets wet," she explained. We toweled each other off and hung the wet things until I could get them into the apartment's coin-op dryer. I wrapped myself in a thick terry robe. Micca was still shivering when she pulled on sweatpants and buttoned on one of my fleeces. I made us each a cup of tea to warm up with. Distant thunder sounded as I started turning our produce into a stir-fry.
The rice was half done and I was about to start on the stir-fry when the lights flickered a couple of times and went out. For once, I was happy that the antiquated kitchenette had a gas stove, so supper wouldn't be affected much. There was barely enough light for me to find the drawer with candles, holders, and matches. I set the first one up where I was cooking and put three more at the table for Micca to deal with. She sighed, "So much for that reading assignment," then sat at the table and lit the candles.
The four candles lit the meal quite nicely, once our eyes adapted. We each had two helpings of the spicy vegetables and tofu over rice, and got giggly on the wine. Candle light created a close, warm environment. I cleared the dishes, then realized that dessert probably wouldn't work as planned. The worst of our wet chill had passed. We really hadn't warmed up, though, and the evening had cooled fast as the storm front moved through. I offered, "Ice cream?"
Micca shivered visibly. "No th-thanks. Is there anything else?"
I looked around. "How about some hot chocolate and a little of this?" I found a bottle of Bailey's and held it up to her.
Micca's smile added to the candle-lit glow. "How about some hot chocolate with a
lot
of that?"
