Crash Diet

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

Irene stood at her kitchen counter, was gripping it in fact, and wondering what the hell was going on with her life. She liked Pamela, liked her a lot: The girl was levelheaded, honest, and very attractive. She had a wholesome outdoorsy appearance that made her instantly enviable. To both men and women, Irene was sure. With those blonde curls, Pamela must have been side-stepping the advances of men from a very tender age.

Irene pushed away the thoughts of how she would handle Pamela if the girl propositioned her and she poured vodka into her glass. When Irene went out to the terrace, Pamela was topping off her own glass. A play for time? Or just waiting for the water to heat up? Their eyes met and held, some form of emotional bridge formed, or maybe just the realization that something was about to happen. Something quite inevitable. Something that had been there from the first time they met.

“Have you ever been with a woman?” Pamela asked.

“I’m straight.”

“That’s not what I asked.” For a teenaged girl she had taken a very mature role in their relationship and Irene found it unsettling.

“No,” Irene shook her head.

Pamela nodded and broke eye contact. “It’s actually considered quite trendy these days, for a straight women to have had a couple of same-s*x relationships in her past.”

Irene hunched a shoulder. “I read that somewhere. In a magazine, I guess.”

“If you were to consider it,” Pamela didn’t look up, “would I be adequate?”

“You kidding? More than adequate. You are a very desirable girl.” God! Irene ran a hand along her face. Had she just committed herself?

“Thank you,” Pamela said simply and studied her wine glass. “Is the water hot enough?”

Pamela helped Irene fold back the insulated cover. The roiling hot water met the coolish night air causing the steam to bellow up and embrace them. The mist swirled around Pamela’s shoulders and left Irene a little lightheaded; a feeling she experienced as a little girl when her parents first placed her on a carousel. The swirling sensation of euphoria, like she was departing her own body; a giddy dizziness she had loved from the very first moment. And here it was again, now with Pamela and the anticipation of her touch; a nineteen-year-old kid. It was amazing to Irene.

They regarded each other, eyes locked, waiting. Who was to be the first? “We don’t have to do this,” Irene finally whispered.

“No we don’t,” Pamela answered, paused a moment, “ –and after tonight, we’ll probably never see one another, ever again,” she concluded, and turning her back, Pamela pulled her shirt down from boney shoulders and unclasped her bra. Without lifting her head, she pried off her tennis shoes and slipped her jeans down. She straightened, looked Irene in the eyes once more before pulling off her underpants.

“You’re beautiful,” Irene exhaled, casting her eyes down the length of the long youthful body.

Pamela stepped forward. Her hands came up. “Here, let me do it,” she said. “I’ve been thinking of it ever since we met.”

A contraction pinched the back of Irene’s neck and the quiver ran all the way down her spine spreading warmth into her loins. “Oh my...”

“I love this skirt on you. The dark blue is formal but so slimming, and the softness hugs the curves; your hips and behind. I’m so narrow down there.”

“It’s– it’s from my– my uniform.”

Pamela ran her hands from Irene’s shoulders, down across her chest, and slipping closer, reached back and captured a buttock in each hand. Irene shuddered and closed her eyes. Pretend it’s a man, she told herself. Any man. Pretend it’s Adam...

“You’re wonderful,” Pamela breathed close, took an earlobe between her teeth then tongued the opening. “Just relax for me, okay? Let me guide you; make you feel nice. You don’t have to do a thing. Just relax and let me take care of you.”

All Irene could manage was a dull nod. As a woman, her emotional embodiment was under duress. Everything she understood about herself was being undone, along with the buttons at the front of her blouse.

“You look so hot in that skirt.” Pamela slipped to her knees and ran her hands down the backs of Irene’s thighs. “Heck, you’re built solid.” And lower, she gripped the curve of calf muscle. “You bike a lot? Run?”

“Mostly tennis. And jogging when I get the chance.”

“Sure works for you. Your thighs are like cord-wood.” And lifting each foot in turn, Pamela pried the heels from Irene’s feet.

Pamela pushed up, straightened, running the nubs of her breasts along the length of Irene’s thighs, across her abdomen and finally, breast to breast, she was back in Irene’s arms. Irene felt the chill of night air, her blouse hanging in the crooks of her arms and Pamela already fumbling with the catch between her shoulder blades.

Irene’s breasts sagged and Pamela stepped back to take Irene by each wrist to undo the sleeves. She swept the blouse and bra off and tossed them onto a patio chair. “Your breasts are fabulous. So full,” Pamela said and taking the weight of first one and then the other between her hands, she pressed her lips to the n*****s, sucking lightly and nibbling with sharp teeth.

Irene, with her eyes still scrunched was thinking of Adam.

Adam, Adam, Adam.

“Let me get you out of your skirt and I’ll make you feel nice,” Pamela continued and Irene heard the sound of the zipper glide smoothly down. Pamela freed the waistband from about Irene’s hips and the skirt slipped from her legs. Pamela reached behind and pulled the panties from around Irene’s buttocks, pried the elastic down over hips and pubis. She bent and stripped the lace from Irene’s legs. “You’re beautiful, Miss Ross.” And she ruffled her fingertips in the dark patch of hair.

“If you’re going to stick your fingers in me, you’d best call me Irene.”

Pamela looked up, eyes glistening, and started to laugh. It was contagious laughter and helped relieve the pressure pounding in Irene’s brain. She managed to steal herself, forced a smile while fighting the feeling that her guts wanted to gush out and spread themselves across the patio stones. She reached for Pamela’s slim waist to stop her hands from trembling.

Pamela led Irene to the apron of the hot tub. “Sit on the edge.”

No. I can’t do this, but Pamela’s hands were already on her shoulders, the light pressure guiding her down. Irene sat naked, her legs dangling in the water, and she watched Pamela slip delicately into the hot foam.

Pamela hadn’t the slightest compulsion. With the water licking at her s*x she waded straight to Irene and got down on her knees. Without pause or hesitation Pamela moved Irene’s legs apart and lowered her face. She nosed the lips apart, ran a curled tongue up the furrow she had created, and with a breath of delight, slurped up the c******s. She sucked lightly and steadily.

Irene sat bewildered, looking down at the blond curls moving between her thighs. She was having a hard time believing. Irene watched what the girl was doing and tried to relax. This should feel nice, she thought but she was too wound-up. At least she wasn’t revolted. Who could be revolted by lovely Pamela? Even when a finger came up to play at the entrance to her v****a, Irene remained passive, doing her best to be receptive and placing an excepting hand at the back of the girl’s head.

But this wasn’t Irene’s place. She couldn’t let go of her inhibitions. “It isn’t working,” she finally said and eased the girl’s face up. “I’m sorry. I can’t let go, can’t loosen-up. I’m sorry. I know you’re trying, but I can’t.”

Pamela leaned back and smiled quietly, she fingers still tracing circles. “I understand. It’s a big step but at least I got a taste.” Pamela giggled with a coy twitch of her chin, and standing, with her arms about her head, she leaned back and let herself fall, the water closing over her. She came back up a moment later, her face and breasts breaking the surface. Pamela kicked out with a foot, playfully sending a sheet of water into the flower bed. “This is fabulous,” she exclaimed. “And you’re trading it for a salty old ocean?”

With her heart rate slipping back toward ninety beats per minute, Irene wiggled off the apron of the hot tub and sank to her neck in steamy suds. “The ocean’s wonderful,” Irene countered. “When I get settled you could come and visit; find out for yourself. You could stand in for one of my flight-crew so it won’t cost you a dime.”

Pamela paused for a moment, gathering her feet under her. “Are you serious? I could fill in for one of your crew?”

“I don’t see why not, when one of them wants a lay-day.” Irene caught a breath. She had neglected to mention that her girls wore skimpy bikinis on the flight. But she shrugged it off. It was a long shot that Pamela might ever consider taking her up on the offer.

“Wow. That would be so cool. Being one of your flight-attendants.” And Pamela was suddenly in Irene’s arms again. Holding her and running fingers down the nubs of her spine. “I would love that.”

Irene wasn’t listening. She was only aware of all that naked skin feeling slippery against her own. Their sleek breasts and bellies coming together, satiny-smooth.

Pamela felt it too. With the communication unspoken, the heat rose between them and Pamela sighed in Irene’s ear. Irene was aware of a hand coming up, pressing between her legs. There was a swirl of motion. Pamela, Irene realized, was simulating herself with roving fingertips.

She held the girl as she touched herself and Irene found herself enjoying the residual effects of having her own c******s nudged; being raked across the back of Pamela’s hand. She pressed closer and rolled her hips up. The provocative gesture was like putting a match to Pamela’s fuse and with a sudden gasp, she jerked. Irene doubled her hold; held Pamela tightly as the spasms rippled through her loins. It was a special kind of nurturing, stoking Pamela’s neck and shoulders, holding her like a child while she calmed.

Pamela finally gathered herself and giggled again. “Gosh. I hope I didn’t offend you. But I couldn’t help myself. You’re so wonderful.”

Irene pulled back so she could catch the girl’s eyes. “Offended? No, it was beautiful; to hold you, to watch you as you– as you did that. The intensity was incredible.”

“I’m so happy you enjoyed me.” Pamela broke from Irene’s grasp. “Damn. I have to sit for a moment. My legs are like rubber.” Pamela was glowing with the aftershocks. She waded to the edge of the hot tub, hoisted her bottom up onto the apron and let her legs dangle. “You think I’m a brat, don’t you?” she asked with a saucy look.

“I think you’re spoiled rotten, self-indulgent and I’m so pleased to have met you.”

Pamela smiled. “That’s nice.” And she let her knees relax revealing the pretty v****a, moist and expectant; the outer crescents offering up the tightly-winged butterfly. And above, tempting, the c******s was protruding hopefully from within its sleek mantle of skin. Irene hesitated. The tables had been turned.

The air around Pamela went strangely still. “You don’t have to,” she said quietly.

Yes I do. And Irene forced herself to moved closer, placing her face between Pamela’s knees. She reached for the prize; unfolded the lips. Pamela’s head went back and Irene felt strangely empowered as the contraction unwound under her hands. Pamela had orgasmed again, at the faintest of touch.

Pamela heaved a breath and a hand came up to clasp Irene at the back of her neck. “Oh God. I knew it would be like this. Please...”

“Yes,” Irene conceded and leaning in, she nuzzled the girl’s soft blond curls and took one of the petals between her lips and sucked it gently. How could something so simple as pleasing this lovely girl be offensive? Irene moved the girl’s knees wider and re-positioned her mouth. She flicked her tongue tentatively at the hopeful kernel before taking it between her lips. She sucked gently and was only dully aware of Pamela’s heaving.