And they went to sleep.
In the morning, they could not resist taking advantage of the shower. Suzanne finished brushing her teeth when she returned to a grumpy Kerry still in bed. She bent down and kissed her on the back of the neck, garnishing a “let me sleep” for her efforts. She persisted till Kerry turned on her back, putting her hand in front of her mouth as Suzanne bent down. “Morning breath.” Without warning, Suzanne grabbed her lover’s hand and pulled her into the bathroom. She wore a robe. Kerry was in a t-shirt.
In the bathroom, Suzanne handed a brush and toothpaste to her wife then watched as she rid herself of morning breath. She placed her arms around Kerry when Kerry finished rinsing and resumed making love to the neck she long admired. As they looked at each other in the mirror, Suzanne had two questions: “Did you notice how big the shower is? Did you notice how many nozzles the shower has?”
Kerry was the one normally with the devious smile. It was now plastered on Suzanne’s face. She stepped back slightly and ran her fingers down Kerry’s ass crack and then wrapped it around so they could toy with her pussy. She felt Kerry’s knees buckle and tightened her left arm around the waist. All the while drizzling kisses on the neck.
She turned to put the water on, Kerry motionless with her hands tight on the sink. When the water was warm enough, the two resumed their eye-lock. Suzanne was fully in charge, pulling Kerry’s shirt over her raised arms and then cradling Kerry’s boobs and nibbles obscenely in the mirror. She stepped back and let her robe drop to the floor. She led Kerry into the shower and closed its door.
“Today is all about you. You’ve been wonderful for and to me here, and I owe you.”
With that she soaped her wife down, front and back, although she only slightly touched her pussy. When Kerry sought to do the same, Suzanne stopped her. “I’m in charge.” Insofar as a woman can seductively soap herself, that is what Suzanne did. Kerry leaned against the shower glass and with the water dripping on her she felt herself get damp. When she tried to caress herself with her fingers, Suzanne batted them away. “Bad girl.”
Kerry had never been so excited without someone touching her. Her tits. Her pussy. Her ass. Suzanne knew it and was excited in her torture.
When she was done, she turned the water off. They stepped out. Suzanne reached for a towel and dried Kerry’s front and then her back, spending perhaps too much time and enthusiasm jiggling her wife’s ass cheeks. She then dried herself off before leading the other to the still unmade bed.
Kerry got on the bed and lay face up. Suzanne went to a suitcase and pulled a strap-on from a compartment. Kerry could not resist saying, “I wonder whether they noticed that in the x-ray at JFK.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re going to notice it in a few minutes.”
“Believe me, love. I’m noticing it now. Just use it already.”
“Can You Stop By The House Today? Say At About Two?”
Kerry was in bed when she heard Suzanne’s phone ring. Her wife planned on going out for an easy five-mile run; she was still in recovery mode from the Olympic Trials Marathon the weekend before. In Atlanta, Suzanne and other women—strangers mostly—banded together to deal with the wind and the hills on the course for the first twenty miles of the race. At that point, the group began to splinter as the stronger picked up the pace and the less strong, Suzanne (who had not done the training required to race a marathon but chose to do enough to survive) among them, drifted over the final six-plus miles alone in what runners refer to as “no man’s land.” Suzanne, though, was pleased with her sub-three-hour finish—2:53. 34—and she and Kerry and the others had a blast in the post-race celebrations and on the Sunday afternoon flight back to New York.
So a nice, easy five-miler up the parkway path before Kerry got up on Saturday was the order of the day. Kerry would probably or at least possibly be up by then and coffee might be ready when Suzanne got home.
It was shortly after eight, and Suzanne was almost out the door when her mother, Kate, called. Then Suzanne bound up the steps.
“You are not going to believe this?”
“Bad?”
“I don’t know.”
To Kerry’s puzzled look, Suzanne said, “It was my mother.”
“I figured. Is she okay?”
“I think so. But she asked if we could come up to Simon’s house at two.”
“Oh-kay.”
“The strange thing. She asked that we get dressed up for it.”
“That can mean only one thing.”
“I think you’re right.”
“I wonder who else is summoned?”
It did not take long to find out. Kerry’s phone rang.
“Did you hear?”
“Hear what, Mom?”
“About Kate and Simon.”
“Suzanne just got a call from Kate.”
“What do you think?”
“It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. It is.”
And so no one was surprised when upon reaching Simon’s house—soon to be Simon and Kate’s—they found the living room festooned with flowers and an Episcopal priest in attendance. When the group was assembled, after Simon told them that in these crazy times he saw no reason to delay being with the woman he loved, Simon Douglas and Kate Pugh got married.