3 comments/ 3228 views/ 2 favorites Larkspur By: AnyaWVossand Chapter 1 : Willow This is fucking pointless. This class, this school. God, I wish I weren't here. I wish I was someone else. I wish I was someone who hadn't gotten dumped last night. I wish my ex would rot in hell for cheating on me, which she was doing when I found her and that other girl. Lots of screaming and drama and shit, and I just slammed the door on all of it and stormed across town back to campus to my single dorm room. Now I'm sitting at my desk in the back at 8:15 am for my 8:30 Literature class after having not slept at all last night, and I'm just about ready to set all these preppy fucks walking past the classroom window on fire when I see my professor come in. This motorcycle goddess, for lack of a better word, is gorgeous and hard as fuck. No students give her a hard time, not ever, because when you behave politely she'll treat you right. But god help you if you decide to be a little shit. No one messes with Professor Lark. The woman almost always looks like she's climbed off a Harley - black work boots lace up beneath her dark jeans held up by a thick, black belt. Most of the time when the weather's cool she wears a wool sweater, but when it's hot out I've seen her in a tank tops that cling to her toned body when she sweats. Long, coal-black hair is naturally straight and typically left to hang down her back and sometimes over her shoulder. Dark green eyes pierce into everyone's soul, or at least mine; that intense look has been known to shut up freshman on day one. Dark makeup and naturally honey-tan skin make her almost look Hispanic, but her thick Irish accent flows prettily when she begins her lessons. Even through my hate-fueled exhaustion I have to take a moment and look at her, pulling my earbuds reluctantly from my ears so I don't miss a word that she says. Usually I'm the first student in - most shuffle in at 8:29, so she's gotten to know who I am pretty quick. "Dia dhuit, Abby" she says with a slight smile, unshouldering her messenger bag onto the table that serves as her desk in this room. I know what the Irish means by now, if only because I went to my dorm room after my first class with her and looked it up. It means hello. "Hey" I say softly. She gives me a subtle look, and I know that she can tell that something is wrong. Yet soon other students are wandering in, that magical moment is gone, and I shut down, feeling angry and bitter all over again. Class passes by faster than it should, and today's lesson is on The Picture of Dorian Gray. I've already read the whole book, and I've got my mid term essay on it half done. In other classes I do as little as possible to get an A. I'm not stupid, but I'm not motivated to ever speak in class or participate. Professors are lucky if I make eye contact with them during the lecture. I can only imagine what Professor Lark must think of me. I'm twenty one and look like I should still be in high school. My scrawny, 5'8" body barely has curves or tits, and I hide what little I have in plaid button ups over white tee-shirts. Because it's cool out today (as cool as Georgia ever gets) I've got on a pair of black skinny jeans that might as well be tights, and my black and white canvas sneakers have certainly seen better days. I'm pale and freckled and am thoroughly a Ginger, complete with blue eyes and frizzy, orange hair. Most of the time I wear a black bandanna to keep it out of my face, and today my scotch fro has been tugged down into two pigtails. Or pigbuns I guess. No amount of brushing will ever make my hair flow smooth and straight. A crinkly lock of it is allowed to drape out from the front of my bandanna, but its end is tucked behind my left ear. "And d'aht's all, everyone. Have a good day." Professor Lark rubs away the chalk notes she'd put up on the black board that I only just notice were there. Fuck. I wanted to take notes. I always take notes. Shit. I bite my lip and rub at my brow to force away a tension headache. Maybe I can track down a classmate. Am I on Jenny's shitlist yet? Maybe. Ron's? While I moodily hike my ratty black backpack onto my shoulder I hear the Professor say "Abby, a moment." I flush, and when I flush I go beat red. For some stupid reason I can't blush like a normal person. No cute little pastel pink for me. It's either anemic and pale or scarlet-fever red. "Uh... sure." My head hangs a little as I watch the rest of my class wander out into the hallway. There isn't another class in here until noon, so whatever she's going to scold me for could well take hours. Only when all the other students have shuffled out does she say "You look awful, Abby. What's wrong?" Lark looks down at me from her superior height of 5'10", and by now she's slipped into her leather coat, which only makes her even more imposing. "Couldn't sleep" I mutter. My heart's pounding. I've never chatted with her really, or been this close to her. She even smells good. Like... soap. Does soap smell good? Oh god, has she said anything else? I blink and look up at her, suddenly terribly nervous that I've royally fucked up the only chance I'll get to talk to this gorgeous woman. "I uh... I mean it was a rough night." Shut up, Abby. Shut up! Her dark brow lifts on one side, and she shoulders her bag. "D'ye got anyone around to go talk to?" I just shake my head morosely. I'm not much of a social butterfly. That embarrasses me and I feel my eyes grow wet and my nose tingles, and I duck my head to hide it. "If ye want to talk about it, be at Tom's Bar after six. I grade my papers d'ere. I'll buy you a drink and you can make it less boring for me." My eyes lift up to hers and I try to meet her gaze for just a second, but by then she's turning and walking out the door. About a minute after she leaves I'm still standing there in the empty class room, my blue eyes wide as I whisper "Okay... I'll see you there." The rest of the day crawls by as I sit through the other three classes I have. Snoozefests all of them, exacerbated by the fact that I'm dead tired. After my last one ends at four I race to my dorm for a power nap and then a shower. I scarf a granola bar to keep myself from getting too hungry before I catch the bus into town. I'm wearing the same things I did in class, though I've left my backpack at home. The nap and the shower have brought me back to life somewhat, and when I walk into the bar I'm not as disoriented as I might have been by the intense smell of booze and cigarettes, and the noise of a football game on the suspended TVs by the bar. I wander around a little until I spot Professor Lark set up at a booth in the back. There's already a mostly-finished glass of beer on a coaster by her right hand, and a stack of papers by her left. A red pen twiddles in her fingers as she reads through someone's weekly book review, and I can tell that this one is probably not a work of art, given how she's frowning. Nervously I approach the table, nibbling my lip as I try to secretively wipe my sweaty palms on the butt of my jeans. Her green eyes flick up towards me and I feel like a deer caught in the headlights of a car. She sets the paper down on the table in front of her and smiles, lifting her beer glass up in toast to me. "My t'anks to you, Abby. Ye just saved me from having a stroke." She takes a sip and gestures to the other side of the booth, and I slide into it, my heart hammering only a little less hard. "Is that one really bad?" Nice! My voice didn't crack! I almost sound casual. Lark nods gravely and sighs, setting the beer glass down. "I can tell 'dey're tryin', but tryin' only goes so far. So, you're here. What's going on?" I hug my arms as I slouch in the booth, feeling stupid for bringing my problems to her. "My girlfriend dumped me last night, after I caught her in bed with some other chick." I'm kind of surprised that I got that out without any pauses or stammering. This is Atlanta, sure, but not everyone's ready to approach the 21st century around here. Lark looks angry on my behalf and remains quiet for a few moments before she raps her knuckles on the table twice and gets up. "I'll be right back. We are in need of some'tin." I just nod dumbly and watch her walk over to the bar, engaging the bartender. Some money's laid down, and she soon returns with two shot glasses filled with amber liquid. One is set in front of me before she takes her seat again and lifts the small glass, and I lift mine before she gently clinks them together. "May she melt off t'e Earth like snow from a ditch." Lark then knocks back her drink, and sets the glass silently down, as if the whole process will definitely make that curse come true. My smile is a little lopsided as I murmur over the lip of my glass "Ooh, I like that." When I tip back the shot it slides down my tongue and throat like wet fire, and it's all I can do not to cough or make a face. My toes curl within my sneakers. Lark chuckles and watches me, and through tearing eyes I wave her concerns (of which there are probably none) away. "I'm good!" I wheeze. Thankfully the bartender comes over with a glass of water and a pair of opened beer bottles. I nod to him and wheeze "Thank you!" before I sip at the ice water. "Was it this sort of thing 'dat's kept you quiet in class for so long? You hardly speak." She takes a sip of her beer as if that shot, which I think was whiskey, never happened. I shrug, feeling the warmth in my belly curl out towards my fingers and toes. And to think I hadn't liked it going down when it feels so good once inside. Yeah, that granola bar wasn't enough. "I do my homework and papers" I grumble, pulling the beer bottle over and nursing it. "I just...this whole college thing is crap." "Crap, ye say?" My nod is firm. "Crap. Like, you're supposed to find yourself during this time of your life. Fuck, I'm a junior, it's March, and I've got one more year left before I earn an English degree... and then what? What am I going to do? What's out there that isn't going to drain the life out of me?" Usually I'm not so chatty. I think it's the beer, or the whiskey, so I take another drink of it. Lark leans back in her seat and shrugs. "So what is it you want to do?" "I want to write books!" I say, my eyes suddenly wide and full of wonder. "I want to be remembered, you know? Like Oscar Wilde, or Yeats, or any of those authors you've taught us about. There are so many beautiful things in the world about human nature, and even beautiful things about sadness and suffering, and I know I can write it." "So write it, Abby." I almost begin to protest, but she's looking at me with that gaze that renders all students silent. "I'm serious. Write your book." The intensity is softened and she smiles. "I'd read it." "You would?" I ask, hiding behind my beer bottle. Lark just nods. "Well, um. Well, I do have this one idea..." And we talk about it. We talk about the story I've been wanting to write for three years but have never had the courage to start. By around nine we're still talking about it even as we head out of the bar. She asks if I'm hungry and I nod, really not wanting to abuse her generosity but desperately needing to eat, and I soon find a slice of cheese pizza on a paper plate handed to me. With a shot of whiskey and two beers in my skinny frame, I inhale it. I swear, it's the best pizza I've ever had. She sees me onto the bus just to make sure I make it home, and I wave to her through the window as the large vehicle takes me and a few other students back to campus. The city lights pass by in a paradisaical blur, and I feel better than I have in a long, long time. All during the twenty minute bus ride home I try to think of a proper title for my story. I'm still thinking about it when I get off at the bus stop in front of the dorms, and I'm still thinking about it as I take a shower and slip into bed. And just as I begin to drift to sleep, I finally know what I want to call this story that I've been keeping inside myself for so long. My lips form the words and I smile, whispering "Larkspur" as I slip into dreams. Chapter 2 : Morning Glory That night I have vivid dreams. Professor Lark is in them, but she hasn't left me at the bus stop. We're somewhere else, an alley with brick walls, and we're touching each other. The cool spring air licks at those patches of our bared skin while our hands roam, and I feel... oh god I feel her hand slide down into my pants... My alarm goes off and I gasp, startling awake in my single dorm bed. I'm tangled in blankets and my hair is mussed and tangled as I look over at the clock on my desk, which also serves as a side table. My room is quite small. With a groan I slide my hand out and switch the alarm off, giving myself a moment to get over my hammering heart. My cheeks are still flushed, and as soon as I move my legs I can feel that the crotch of my panties are soaked. Sodden and hot. I toss my covers off and wriggle out of my underwear, tossing them into the hamper. But that doesn't solve the problem of how horny I still am. God that was a good dream. On the other side of my door, other people are starting to shuffle down the hallway, which means that there won't be an available shower for a little while. I nibble my lip and open my bottom desk drawer, pulling out a vibrator and a dildo. Ah the love life of a single woman, but I'm feeling so desperate that I don't give myself time to dwell on it. I turn on the radio for some gentle music to cover the buzz of my toy, then slip under my bed covers to muffle it further as I stimulate myself. I'm already so wet that I don't have to bother much with foreplay, and I ease the silicone cock slowly into myself. It's cool and thick, and I'm so tight that I can feel every texture and fake vein and winkle of fake skin. It sinks into me slowly and I tip my head back, the bridge of my nose winkling as I frown in concentration. The tip of my vibrator rubs at my clit and labia in slow circle like an electric tongue, and my toes curl as my hips grind against it. But all that physical stuff is nothing compared to the imagery going on in my mind. That dream was vivid as hell, and I can still smell her. The scent of her leather jacket and the soap she uses. The feel of her lips on mine, the sounds she makes as she breathes, the press of her breasts against my meager chest. And I distinctly remember how her hand was a solid, aggressive shape within my skinny jeans, the fly unbuttoned and unzipped as her fingertips just slid into the waistband of my panties, touching at my skin, lower and lower until... My back arches sharply and I bite my lip, trying hard not to make any noise. But fuck, oh fuck this one hits me like a ton of bricks. I shudder and writhe, stubbornly rubbing with the vibrator as shocks zing up my spine and my pussy clenches down on the toy still inside me. The aftershocks of my orgasm jolt through my legs, hips, and back, and while I don't quite manage to shift off the bed, the wooden frame does squeak a little as my climax dies down in fits and starts. My body almost has a death grip on the dildo, and I have to ease it out gently to get it out at all, another small gush of hot, thick nectar shining my inner thighs. "Well... fuck..." I breathe, holding my used toys in one hand as I drape my other arm across my heated forehead. Through huge, dilated pupils I turn to look at my clock. Shit, I need to get going if I want to have some breakfast before class. My knees are a little bit like Jello as I slip out of bed. There's a sink in my room, and my toys are thoroughly washed and dried before being put away. As I open my door a crack I can still hear the loud hiss of multiple shower heads. Fuck. Too late for any of that. With a sigh I make do with splashing water on my face, using a paper towel to try and tidy up between my legs, and then I see about getting dressed and tugging a brush through my hair. My three classes today don't really encroach into my awareness. I do my duty with them: attend, take notes, write down new assignments and turn in old ones. But my mind is churning with ideas, concepts, plot webs, and character backgrounds. A small marble notebook is slowly getting filled in with notes about my story, and by 4pm I'm clutching it to my chest nervously as I linger outside Professor Lark's door, waiting for her office hour to begin. At 4pm on the dot I hear her door unlock. There aren't any other students here but me, and as soon as she sees me she smiles. "Dia dhuit, Abby." "Hey, Professor Lark." I'm bouncing on my toes like a little girl. She nudges a rubber stopper in between the bottom edge of her door and the floor to keep it open, and nods towards the notebook I'm clutching. "Got started already, did you?" I nod excited, grinning and bouncing on my toes even faster. "Well alright. Come in and tell me all about it. But..." She pauses in her doorway and I almost bump into her, biting my lip. "...if other students show up, unlikely as 'dat is, for actual help in class I'm going t'have to kick you out for a little while. Deal?" I nod again, and we head into her office. There's a cushy arm chair in the corner and she gestures for me to sit on it. Her own desk chair is a lived-in pleather and metal number that looks like it's seen better days. While she gets settled and takes a sip of her tea, I study her office. One entire wall of the small room is completely filled with bookcases, and those are filled entirely with books. Entirely. Titles that couldn't be squeezed in vertically are tucked in horizontally atop the others. There's even a pile of three books on her desk right now, each with book marks in them. Jesus, does she really read three novels at a time? I also notice a lot of pictures and things up on the walls. An Irish flag is pinned up, as well as newspaper clippings that are somewhat yellowed. Polaroids are tacked up too, and these are all nestled in amidst syllabi for her classes, university policies on grading, and other professorial things. If I could I'd get up and take a long look at everything, but the last thing I want to do is waste her time. So, clearing my throat, I open my notebook and start discussing the story that's been in my mind for three long, secretive years. Professor Lark listens thoughtfully, politely interrupting to ask a question or request a bit of clarification. I have a pen out and scribble notes as she gives her feedback, and it seems to me that she really likes the ideas I've talked about. To think that a brilliant academic like her would enjoy my story idea just blows my mind, and I'm feeling a little dizzy with giddiness. I can't wait to get to my laptop and start writing, but at the same time I just want to keep talking with her. It feels like we're just hanging out; she doesn't talk down to me or patronize me, and it feels so good to be treated with such kindness by someone so amazing. By the time 5pm rolls around she shoos me out of her office so that she can get back to grading papers, the same stack that she'd attempted to tackle in the bar last night. I don't want to get in her way a second time, so I slip out and quietly close the door behind me. And then I'm running down the hallway with a giant, stupid grin on my face. She likes it! She really likes it! I nearly collide with a few other students but I hardly care. My sneakers fly over the grass and the ground all the way back to my dorm, and I'm out of breath and sweaty when I get back to my room. I dump my things on my bed, grab my toiletries, rush off to take a quick shower, and then I lock myself in, fire up my laptop, and start writing. My story flows from my fingers and it just doesn't stop. Usually I feel anxiety about starting any sort of new writing project, whether it's an essay or writing for pleasure, but I don't feel that way now. I'm pumping it out, chewing on a stick of gum and blowing bubbles as page after page come to life before my eyes. Soon enough my eyes are strained, my back hurts, and it's 9:47pm. Jesus, really? I snap my last bubble out of this stale gum before leaning over and spitting it out in my trash can. The wadded up paper towel from this morning with my cum still buried in the center makes me flush a little bit, and I remember my dream all over again. I'm so pumped from writing and from talking, no, mind melding with Lark that I'm tempted to masturbate again. Larkspur It's at this precise moment when I realize that I'm madly in love with her. The thought hits me like a freight train, and I sit back in my desk chair and feel that sort of chilled, detached excitement when you just know that something's changed in your life. I've known about her for two years now, seeing her in the hallways of the English department. Some people are put off by how up front she is, but they can go fuck off. Her candor and honesty is refreshing in this collegiate sea of sycophants and entitled, ego-bloated professors who squeezed out their last drop of literary talent years ago. Lark is fresh and new and different. She's alive and beautiful and what in Christ am I going to do?! Oh god, I can't even tell her, or anyone! My chair is pushed back on its rollers and bumps into the wall as I start pacing back and forth across my room, fingers clutching at my orange hair. She's my professor! It's so unethical! And...and what if she doesn't like women?! Oh god, oh god, oh god. I gulp and stand still in the middle of my room, balling my hands into fists by my thighs as I take in deep breaths and let them out again. This isn't the end of the world. You can just never ever tell her about it. No... no, I can't keep this bottled up forever. But... maybe until the semester's over. Yeah. I can wait until then, and leave her a note or something. I'm sticking around campus for the summer to take care of some gen eds and electives. So either...well, either things will be magical, or I'll feel like sinking into a hole for my senior year, graduate, and move as far around the Earth as I can get to not ever bother her with myself again. Okay... this is starting to sound like a plan. Chapter 3: Thyme The rest of the semester speeds by. Lark's morning classes are the highlight of my week, every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. I participate more and I try my best to really show that I'm a good student and care about my education, and in return she's become a mentor to me. During her office hours we talk about the chapters I've sent her that week, and usually we share a pot of tea. Almost no one comes to her office hours anyway, so it's become our time to share. I think she looks forward to it, honestly, because she's always happy to see me. My final tests and papers are a breeze, and my book's first draft is almost finished. Life is good and I've even made a few friends and joined a writing club on campus. Lark makes a point to check up on me now and again, because even in this happiness I still have gray days when I run into my ex. She hates the sight of me, and if we even see each other across the street I feel sick and stupidly guilty, as if I'd been the one to break her heart. News flash - she cheated on me. There's no taking that shit back. And then the worst happens. I'm walking back from my last final. My fingers ache after filling up three blue test booklets but I'm feeling great and on top of the world. And then my cell rings. It's my grandmother. I've lived with my grandparents since I was very little. They're real deep-south sort of people, who are very loving of their family but a bit nervous around new things. I could tell that they weren't happy that I wanted to go to the big city for college, but they were supportive. Of course I didn't tell them about how I like girls - they wouldn't understand. They're probably still waiting for me to find some nice boy and make them a lot of grandchildren. I answer the phone and cheerfully greet my Gramma, but soon my feet shuffle to a stop and my smile fades. A cold, sick pit forms in my stomach as my Gramma, in very sombre, even tones tells me about the phone call she just got from my ex. One that told her in explicit detail about our relationship. My ex knew that I was closeted with my family. How could she do this? And why now?! I hardly know what to say when my Gramma asks if this is all true. My eyes grow wet and my chin quivers as I say yes. How can I lie now? Maybe it's best if you don't come home for a while. Click. I just stare at my phone for a moment, watching numbly as it spills from my numb fingers and falls into the plush grass near my dorm. Other students walk past, some looking at me in confusion as I sink to my knees and start to weep. This secret I've kept from them... I never wanted to hurt them with it. They're the only family I have, and now I can't go home. I cry quietly into my hands for almost ten minutes, and then like a robot I scoop my phone up and rub my runny nose on the back of my wrist. Where am I walking to? I don't know. My legs just keep moving, and the world slips by, unreal. Maybe I'll be struck by a bus. It'd be quick, wouldn't it? What am I going to do? My life is over. A car screeches to a stop inches from my legs and I startle, covering my mouth and stumbling out of the way to the side walk as the driver curses me out and speeds along. What am I going to do? I'm walking up a stairwell, and I'm in the English department. Without thinking I go to Lark's office, but the door's locked. She's not there. The finals schedule on her door says that her last test was two days ago. I shuffle back to the stairwell and make it halfway down before I sit on the stairs and bawl. What's the point of holding back? I won't be coming back next semester. How can I? Who's going to pay for all this? My grandparents had been helping me, but now I have no health care. Surely I'll be kicked off theirs. What if I get sick? What am I going to do? I'm hyperventilating, and just when I think I'm going to pass out I feel a hand on my shoulder. "Abby, what's happened?" It's Lark. My eyes are bloodshot and my cheeks are streaked with tears. I just stare up at her, not seeing her, not really seeing anything. She takes a seat next to me on the stairs and rubs my back, shifting closer until I just wrap my arms around her neck and cry onto her shoulder. I'm sure I'm leaving smears of saliva and snot on her tank top as I tell her everything that's just happened. My voice cracks and squeaks as I gulp for air, hysterical. I've always had nightmares about this very thing and now, to my horror, they've all come true. Lark waits until I've finished and just holds me, comforting me. Her familiar smell, that lovely soap, is on her skin like it always is, and I just cling tighter. I must look like such an imbecile, and so helpless. What would a woman like her ever want with a wreck like me? "Come on, 'den. Let's get you out of here." I'm helped up to my feet and walked out of the building to the parking lot. She loads me into the passenger seat of her sedan and drives me back to my dorm. As she parks my heart sinks. I'll bet she can't wait to be rid of me, and morosely I unbuckle my seat belt and unlock the door. Her hand rests on my shoulder, and I don't quite meet her eyes as my head turns back to her. "Abby... I got some work around my house 'dat needs doing, and I could use some help. If y'aren't doing anything today, or t'next few days, I'd appreciate it if you'd come over to my place. It's easy work and I'll pay ye for it, and hot meals and board are included." At first I don't really understand. Chores around her house? But then my lower lip quivers, but rather than break down all over again at her generosity I press my lips together and toughen up. "Sure. Yeah, I... well, I could sure use a job right now." "Perfect. D'en it's settled. Go on now; grab some t'ings 'dat you'll need for a few days. And don't forget your laptop - you still got writing to do. Away with you, and be quick." Her smile is infectious, and I'm smiling a little too as I slip out of the car and jog over to my dorm, trying desperately not to fumble my key card and look like an idiot. Within ten minutes I have what I'll need stuffed into a duffel bag and my back pack, and I haul this out to her car. It gets dumped into the back seat, and we pull out of the parking lot and head towards the suburbs of Atlanta a few miles away from campus. Lark's house is in a nice and quiet neighborhood. The house looks old and a bit run down, but she has a pretty little half-acre all around, with willows and a bench and a garden that looks like it was once conscientiously tended. I pull all of my stuff out of the back as she looks around, as if taking a look at her property for the first time, trying to see it the way I'm seeing it now. "So, ye can see 'dat there's going to be some paintin' to do. A bit of gardening maybe. I could say 'dat I'm too busy to do it, but honestly... I'm just lazy. Been meanin' to get this place fixed up for ages." She winks at me before she smiles, and good god her smile is like the polar opposite of the Look of Silence that is also one of her super powers. I'm fairly certain that I float after her as she walks up three stairs and unlocks the door to the porch, and then to the house. She shows me to the room I'll be staying in. It's not ready to sleep in yet, but I guess that'll be my first chore. It's a small upstairs office that she's been using for storage, and while it's musty it'll be livable, especially with a little cot by the desk. It's more than enough for me for the few days I'll be here. I'm starting to feel a lot less terrible as she sets me to work cleaning the room. It's good to have something to do to take my mind off things. I mean, every now and again I almost start crying, but every time that happens I just start working harder. My phone is on the desk, plugged in and charging as it works as a little stereo and fills my small living space with Nirvana's album Nevermind. By the time I hear Lark ascending the squeaky, narrow wooden stairs up to the second floor, I'm kneeling on the floor, my hair tied back with a bandanna. I've already swept and mopped the floor, and now I'm stacking up boxes a bit more neatly to make more room. Beads of sweat run down my neck, and I'm just wearing a black sports bra and a pair of red basketball shorts. It's hot today but I don't care. The poison and terror in my blood oozes out my pores along with all the water, and being tired and working hard has really helped. Lark looks around the room, eyebrows raised in appreciation. "It's staring to look like a room. Imagine 'dat." She glances at me, and I notice that she's drying off her hands with a dishtowel. "Hungry?" Oh god, am I. I nod, and she simply turns and walks back down stairs. In my bare feet I follow after her to the kitchen, where I see a sandwich on a plate. I almost dive in after it before she gives me the Look and I freeze, grimy fingers and hands half-stretched out towards the food. Oh, right. I clear my throat and bite my lower lip, slipping out of the kitchen to the small bathroom on the first floor. The cool water feels good on my face, hands, and the back of my neck, and when I finally sit down at the table for lunch I feel refreshed. We don't talk very much over lunch, but it's alright. Lark doesn't seem to be uncomfortable with the silence at all, and she doesn't pry about how I'm feeling. She can probably tell just by looking at me. When I'm done with my sandwich she takes up my plate, bringing it to the sink to do the washing up after putting a kettle on. I stay sitting at the table and just admire her. Slightly bent over the sink, I revel in the bow of her shoulders, so entirely visible within her black tank top, and the lines of her back and how they flow to her hips where a pair of black shorts take over. And her ass, oh god I can't stop staring at it. She's athletic and fit as hell, and I'll bet she could knock someone out with one punch if she wanted to. Right now her hair's up in a ponytail, the always-straight strands starting to get just a little curly. A sheen of sweat glistens on her honey-colored skin, and for a moment I wonder how it would taste if I slid my tongue along her shoulder. Immediately my pussy aches, and I gulp and bite my lip. Shit, walking's going to be awkward. My hips shift a little and I realize that not only is my crotch now on fire, I'm also wet. Great. Sloooowly I sneak out from my chair and head to the bathroom, locking myself in there. I run the water in the sink to cover up the lack of, well, using the toilet for bathroom purposes as I check on the state of my panty emergency. Which is kind of an emergency, given the fact that I'm not wearing any. Why aren't I wearing any?! Oh, right... because on the ride over I got the crotch wet on that pair too. Jesus, just being near her for long enough seems to do it. I wipe myself as dry as possible, wipe down the insides of my shorts and thank my lucky stars that there isn't a wet spot, flush the toilet, wash my hands, and head back out. I take my tea, mint today, and sip at it as I sit at the table, feeling a bit fidgety. "So um... Professor Lark..." "Alana." Such a pretty name. There are so many butterflies in my stomach right now. "Alana. Are you... alone here? I mean, um..." I sit back in my chair and pull up my right leg and hug it, folded, to my chest. My chin rests on my knee as my bare heel rests on the front edge of the seat. "...partners? House-mates?" She just shakes her head. "Just me, Abby. Does that make you uncomfortable?" I shake my head, looking down at my toes as they curl and flex. "No, it's fine." It's better than fine. Lark sips at her tea, and looks out the window over the sink. Birds sing outside, whiling away the hottest part of the day in the shade. A cream-colored phone on the wall rings, starling us both out of the quiet peace that had descended over the kitchen. I look at her with a bit of confusion, and she walks over and picks up the phone from its cradle, the curly cord half tangled as she wanders back over to her tea cup. "Hello?" As soon as the person on the other end starts speaking I can see Lark's expression change. Something tired and frustrated creeps into her features, and she closes her eyes. With a sigh she says "Mwī'lin topa, munʹia du hu." This conversation already looks like it's going to be unpleasant, and I slip out of the kitchen and head back upstairs with my tea. I can't help but wonder just who she was talking to. She didn't seem happy about it, and what she was saying... was that Irish? I have no idea. It sounded very pretty. I wish she'd say something to me in the language, even if I don't understand. Honestly, she could call me an ugly cow with those pretty sounding words and I'd be on cloud nine. For the next few hours I work at a more sedate pace, getting the old desk in the room cleaned and useful. My laptop is set up and plugged in, my ear buds coiled up beside it, and my marble notebook and a few pens placed in the top drawer. I leave my toys in my duffel bag. Christ, how would I ever explain that one if she went into the desk looking for something? I couldn't even be mad - it's her desk. By now the bed is all made up, the purple linens she provided fitting well and smelling nice, like they came out of a wooden chest. I'm so worn out from everything - finals, all... that stuff that happened this afternoon, and all my hard work that I'm completely ready to collapse into bed and sleep until tomorrow. But I'm sweaty. I was born and raised in Georgia, and I'm used to it being warm and sticky, sure. But I still don't like having old sweat all over me all day, not if I can help it. So I gather up my toiletries in a plastic grocery bag and carry it into the bathroom on the second floor, which is the main one. Lark's bedroom is just down the short little hall a few feet away. Kind of a bummer that the two bedrooms are at the top of the house - heat rises, and in an old house like this without central air keeping things cool is kind of impossible, no matter how many fans you've got. The water feels so good on my skin, and the hiss of it gives me a bit of privacy. As quickly as I can I finger myself, bracing my other hand on the tile, legs parted in the bathtub basin as the water slides down my skin and into the drain. I need to get some relief. My long, thin fingers slide expertly over my full, needy lips and clit, rubbing in hard circle before plunging into my pussy for a few desperate thrusts and pulling back out again to repeat the cycle. Being so distraught and then being more or less rescued by this secret love of my life, it's more than a girl can take. My brow knits as my breathing gets heavier, and my fingers curl against the tile as I bring myself closer and closer. Come on, come on, just fucking cum already! I'm not asking anything of you that I haven't asked before, body! But it's not happening. And now... now I'm even more edgy. FUCK. I groan in frustration, then clap my hand over my mouth. Shit, that was loud. Here's hoping she didn't hear that. Great. Good work, genius. I shampoo my hair and rinse it, rub a soapy poof all over my skinny body, rinse off, and then step out of the shower to towel off. The tap turns off with a squeak, and the noisy wooden flooring outside the bathroom door creaks as foot steps walk away. Oh my god, she heard me. Fuck. My. Life. I feel like I'm about to be kicked out at any second as I creep back into my room to get dressed in fresh clothing. The house is so quiet, or it seems that way at first. But soon I hear some music coming from downstairs. It's pretty; there's a woman singing and she's not singing in English. It sounds a lot like the language Lark was speaking on the phone, though as I silently walk down the stairs I can tell that whatever's being said is about something sad. I linger by the opening to the living room and see Lark stretched out on her couch, eyes closed and listening to the music. Her face is slightly flushed, and her features look a little tense, as if she's working out something uncomfortable in her mind. I've been there. I'm still there. Quietly I take a seat in an empty arm chair in the corner, listening to the beautiful music. All around the living room now I notice framed photos. Pictures of green, rolling hills, of villages by the sea and other shots from a large, metropolitan city. Lark isn't in any of them, nor is anyone else. It's just the countryside. The land. It must be Ireland. It's beautiful. Why did she ever leave it? "I was turned away from home, too. Once upon a time." Lark's voice is soft, and her eyes are still closed as she keeps listening. I look back at her and hug my knees to my chest. "What happened?" It's a few moments before she answers, but when she does it's thoughtful and a little sad. "I'm a Traveler - an Irish Gypsy. I was born in a trailer park near Dublin. My family, we all lived on 'de Dole. Social welfare. My parents and most of my extended family were, probably still are, illiterate. I wanted t' learn to read and write, and I stayed in school when all of my brothers and sisters and cousins dropped out at fourteen or fifteen. I got good marks, and unlike all 'de rest of my family, or any of the other families in 'de park I was going to make it out of 'dere. I was goin' to make somet'in of myself." She pauses for a moment, and the song ends, the CD switching to another track. This one is instrumental music, but nonetheless it's still sad. "'den my family starts pressuring me to get married and have children. All my cousins were married, and a few had kids already. My mother kept pressuring me because I think she knew." I swallow. "Knew what?" "I'm not attracted to men. I never was, not romantically nor sexually. And try to have any sort of lesbian relationship, or any relationship at all, and everyone in 'de family knows about it. I couldn't stand it. I t'ink I was so fed up with what people expected of me 'dat I finally got up 'te gumption to kiss a girl at a bar. Oh and it was marvelous. Everyt'ing I'd ever t'ought it'd be. And she was so pretty. Red hair, just like you." Larkspur I grin and curl my toes, hugging my knees snugly as I listen. "But 'dat was 'te last straw. My dad beat me and sent me out without anyt'ing at all. Called me a dyke and a whore. My brothers tried to fend him off, and 'dey got in a terrible fight. I just ran away, living in Dublin, homeless, sleeping in a shelter. 'De city had a program 'dat let me finish my education, and I don't know how I managed it but I won a scholarship to the University College Dublin and majored in Irish, Celtic Studies, Irish Folklore, and Linguistics. Quite a mouthful, but it was grand. I graduated with good marks, and went on to get my doctorate degree. I accepted a position here about six years ago. I chose it because 'dere's a lot of Travelers around South Carolina, and it's not a long drive. Went and visited once or twice." There's a brief period of silence, and my smile fades. "So... who was on the phone?" Lark sighs. "My brother. One of 'de few who still talk with me. T'ings are 'de same as 'dey always were. Nothing wrong, nothing right. He wishes I'd come back to Ireland, but..." Her smile is slight, and she rubs at her sternum, as if her chest is tight. "...Ireland's in here. And my family's nowhere." God, what do I say to that? The sun is sinking, and bars of light are sliding orange and gold around the quiet living room. Lark gets up from the couch and shuts off the stereo. "Have a good night, Abby" she says, her voice lacking the vitality that it normally does. I listen to her as she walks up the stairs slowly, and I know that with every creaking step her heart is doing just the same. Chapter 4: Lavender Over the next few days Lark and I tackle her house like it's the embodiment of all of our earthly problems. The outside gets a new coat of heather green paint and the trim is done up in white. The shutters are taken down, hosed off, dried, and repainted in white as well. We clean out the clogged gutters and bag up the rubbish, which only piles higher once I start working on the garden. I asked her at the start what she wanted done with it, but she seemed oddly detached about it. "You do what you want with it, Abby. Let's see what happens." It kind of feels like a present. I like gardening. I like flowers. There's a gardening center a few blocks away from her house, and I've picked up a few packets of seeds. Honey Suckle, Mint, Sweet Pea, and Larkspur of course. Right now my bare knees are resting in the cool loamy earth as I weed, the dusty old gloves I'm wearing helping to protect my hands from burrs while making sure they sweat at the same time. It's been three days so far since I was brought into Lark's home under the pretense of helping with housework. My heart's still broken that my family's rejected me, but at the same time it's like a weight is gone. I don't have to hide myself anymore, not to anyone. I'm alone, but at least I'm free. I pull my gloves off to slide my hands through the cool, ready dirt. In the height of summer, this place is alive and will continue to be alive regardless of what's happened in the world of human beings. Our sorrows don't mean much to the trees and the land, and somehow I like the thought that I can depend on their constancy when my own life is in turmoil. I still don't know what I'm going to do. My summer classes would have started in a few weeks, but I've withdrawn from them to lower the number of loans I'll have to take out. My last year of schooling is on me now, and I know that if I really buckle down I can get the rest of my credits in the fall and spring just fine. Having worked with the registrar and bursar directly has helped me get some sense of control over my life. I'll have a place to live in the fall and spring, though it's going to add to my debt. I'll have a meal plan too, and the health insurance offered by the university. My life is seen to for at least another year, but after that I haven't any idea. My index finger pushes slowly into the dirt to make a narrow hole some inches deep, and after I withdraw my digit I drop in a little seed. Another hole and another seed, over and over again, until the task becomes meditative. My packets of seeds are soon all emptied, and the waiting and ready garden is full of little holes with seeds in them. I carefully pat soil over it all to protect them, then moisten it all lightly with the watering can I've kept handy. I then sprinkle water on my legs, feet, and hands to wash them off a little before heading inside. The peaceful quality of Lark's back yard is matched by the tranquility inside her house. While she hasn't been quite herself since that phone call, she's still made every effort to make me feel welcome. Good to her word she pays me in cash at the end of every day, ten bucks an hour for easy stuff and fifteen for the really exhausting, horrible shit. I'm happy to do it. I might have done it all for free regardless to thank her for taking care of me. All that money is being put away in a savings account for an emergency. Right now I head up to the second floor to take a quick shower, and then once I get dressed I haul my hamper of clothing two stories down to the basement to wash it. It's just normal chores, but these sorts of things have helped to put my life back in order. Right now Lark's out running errands, and as I toss my grimy clothing into the washer I ponder her name for maybe the hundredth time. Alana Lark. Once I get all my things into the washer and start it up, I lean over the top of the machine in the cool dark of the basement and trace out the name on the glossy white cover top. Alana Lark. Alana Lark. Abby Lark. I bite my lower lip and wipe my hand quickly over the surface, as if to dash it away. That's ridiculous. Stop getting your hopes up. Don't be stupid. Georgia bans same sex marriage, and it'll probably stay that way for a long while. I wonder why Lark stays here, and I start to wonder why I should stay here either. Why live in a place that thinks I'm a sinner just for being who I am? Who are they to cast judgment on me? All these gripes come back into my head and I sigh, listening to the sloshing hum of the washing machine absently. Abby Lark. It's not such a bad name. The door upstairs opens, and foot steps cross the entry hall to the kitchen. She must be home. I'm almost embarrassed to go upstairs, having spent the entire afternoon brooding and morose. Yet it'd be shitty not to go up and help her if she needs it, so I take in a deep breath and head on up the stairs. The stairwell leads right up into the kitchen, passing through a sort of pantry space lined with shelves all stocked with canned goods, jars, or boxes of cereal and this and that. As I emerge from the depths I see her silhouette tuck in a new box of corn flakes onto a shelf and she smiles at me. "I got you somet'ing." "You did?" As I step out into the kitchen I see that the table is covered with grocery bags. I guess today was shopping day. Fuck, how strong is she that she hefted all of that inside on one trip? I swear I only heard her come in once. Like a raccoon I prod and peak into the bags, curious about what she meant. "Aye. Here, carry down 'dose bags to 'de icebox down stairs." I blink and turn to look at the bags she's pointing to on the counter, and then wander over and try my best to be strong like she was. Oh fuck me it's heavy as hell. Still, I grit my teeth, ignoring how the bags cut into my curled fingers, and bring them back down into the basement. With a grunt I set them on the floor and open up the small freezer. There's more than enough space inside it to hold all this, and I tuck away ice cream, meats, butter, and a few other things. There's a lot of meat getting tucked away too. Sausages, hamburger, ribs, steaks, and a few whole chickens wrapped in plastic. When I come back upstairs I ask "Alana, are you tossing a party?" "I was t'inkin' about it" she says over her shoulder with a smile. I'm directed back out to her car (shit, there's more?), and I realize at once that it's my solemn duty to haul in a lot of alcohol and soda. All different kinds - Sprite, Pepsi, Root beer, you name it. I can't really complain as I take several trips to get it all in. This is some good shit. A twenty-four pack of beer, and a cardboard box loaded up with, shit, a few bottles of wine, white and red, tequila, gin, whiskey of course, and rum. Maybe that's why there's a lot of fruit juice bottles on the table? Maybe. It all gets hauled down to the basement dutifully. I come back up to see what else needs moving, but Lark just hands me a glass of water and shakes her head. "So I got a few friends who write, yeah? T'ought it might be nice to see 'dem again." She takes a sip from her water and leans back against the edge of the counter. "And it would be good for you t'be with people." Over the lip of my glass I smile. "But you're people, aren't you?" "Bah..." she gruffs, sipping at her water. "Ye need jolly people. So 'dat settles it. Next weekend, we'll have a barbecue or somet'in." And that weekend we have a party. My original engagement to work on her house was supposed to be for a few days, but the day before the party she reminded me about move-out at the dorms. All my stuff was still there, and without any summer classes I'd have to find a place to store it while I looked for a place to stay. The search lasted all of two seconds. Lark insisted that I stay with her, and that day we picked up the rest of my stuff. It feels good to have all my things now. I feel a bit less like a refugee. The party is in full swing, which means that there are six people here milling about, drinking and laughing outside. At first I'm really shy. I decided to wear a yellow summer dress and a bit of makeup. I even decided to wear my hair down. I almost never do any of this, but I really don't want to look frumpy in front of Lark's friends. Soon enough I'm barefoot, my dressy sandals tucked under my chair as I wriggle my toes in the grass along with everyone else. The atmosphere is so comfortable and casual that I wonder why I was ever nervous. Lark's friends are fascinating. All of them are published authors, and all of them have projects they're working on. The number of genres covered by the six of them is impressive, from non-fiction historical accounts to romance to poetry to science fiction. And I can really tell who writes what by their personality, it's almost funny. They all joke about it too, and then they all try to guess what genre I'll find myself tucked into. Lark gives me a wink but stays mum on my book, and I let them guess and laugh as they get it wrong. It's probably the easiest I've ever felt about bringing up my book on my own, and they're all interested as I explain it to them. They pester me until I cave and head upstairs to grab the first few chapters for them to read. Lark hands me a beer as I anxiously wait for them to look through it, and I try to stay cool as these six amazing people make up their minds about it. Of course I'm thinking of all the weak points in what I've written, cursing myself for not having edited it more mercilessly. In the end, though, the feedback I get is very positive. There are a lot of suggestions for improving some parts, but by and large they think it's worthwhile. I'm seriously on cloud nine and I can't stop smiling. The evening proceeds and the night air fills with fireflies and mosquitoes, forcing us all inside. Good food and drink has made us all relaxed, and I find a comfortable spot on the floor with my back against the wall. A cup of tea and a small plate of half-finished lemon tart linger nearby, and I just listen as they all talk about what they do, where they've been, and what they've seen. All I can do is absorb, and it's all I want to do. The others realize that I don't really want to share and so they don't press me about my circumstances. Maybe Lark asked them not to. Around nine I'm feeling a little sleepy, and the guests begin to shuffle out, gifted each with leftovers, drinks, and snacks to last them quite a while. I rouse myself from my sluggishness to help bring packages out to vehicles and say my goodbyes, though as I'm walking back to the house I notice Lark and one of her former students talking in hushed tones in the back yard. I know I shouldn't, but I can't help it - I walk quietly into the dark bathroom and open the window that looks out onto the portion of the yard where they're standing. I keep the light turned off and lean back against the wall to eavesdrop for a moment. "Alana, come on..." That's the former student. Lark mutters something, but the student interjects again. "It'd be so good for you both. Please, just consider it. There's nothing wrong at all with..." But Lark shuts her up as a few guests wander out back to make their goodbyes. What did that mean? I'm confused, and it probably has nothing to do with me. Probably. I've already said goodbye to everyone, so I stay in the kitchen and help clean up. I feel kind of domestic doing this in such a pretty yellow summer dress, but what the hell. The door creaks open and closes again, and I can hear the gentle sound of vehicles pulling out of the drive way and heading out to the quiet road. I've not even noticed how the kitchen is dark. Light comes in from the living room through the open doorway, and it's enough for me to see by. Lark comes in to grab a trash bag, shaking it open before she heads back into the living room to clear away all the plastic plates, cups, utensils, and napkins. I'm nervous but I don't know why. Maybe I should turn on the light, but I don't want to. I want to feel hidden; I don't want anyone to look in and see me right now. I'm going to run out of things to do really soon, but I don't want to just go and lock myself into my room upstairs. It's been such a good night... so why am I so anxious that I want to hide? The trash bag is brought back into the kitchen, but as she heads to the pantry/basement door I swoop in. "I'll get it." I'm not sure why I'm being like this, but as I reach for the neck of the bag our hands touch, and she looks a little startled, as do I. Yet she lets me take it from her and I take the stairs down two at a time, feeling like an idiot. Once I'm back upstairs, I notice Lark's leaning by the sink. I'm given precisely zero seconds to prepare for this before she outrightly says "So I've been told 'dat I should date you." I'm so glad that it's dark in here, though my fiery blush might be giving off it's own light. My voice cracks at first with a sound like Grk, but I swallow and try again, desperate to sound casual about it. "O...oh?" Lark nods, rolling her shoulders. "It's not a prerequisite for staying here, Abby. Absolutely not. Your grades are in already. Hell, you got an A+ from me before any of 'dis happened..." she explains, and I realize now that she's fidgeting. "...'De code of conduct doesn't make 'dis kind of t'ing a punishable offense for ei'der party, so long as y' aren't in any more of my classes. And you've already taken 'de one you need." At this point she's talking to herself, and she's not meeting my eyes. I've never seen her like this before. My hands grip at my skirt and wring the life out of it. I feel like I'm falling to pieces and turning to water. Without saying anything I walk over to her, breathing in the smell of the soap she wears on her skin. I swear I'm going to faint; my heart's pounding and I'm dizzy. Still, though, I manage to lightly press a kiss to her cheek before pulling back and whispering "Okay". Rain drops have started to patter on the windows, the silence crushing as time draws to a halt. The light from the living room reflects on her eyes as she turns to look at me, judging my sincerity. I don't look away. Oh god, please see how much I want this. Believe me that I consent to everything. The rain picks up quickly, and a lance of lightening scintillates through the clouds. There's no sound in the house but the coming storm, and just as a bone thrumming peal of thunder rumbles above us in the clouds Lark presses her lips to mine. We kiss nervously at first, like we're giving each other the chance to pull away and back out of this. But neither of us do. The rumbling of thunder and the hiss of the rain almost cover the wet sounds of our lips as the kiss heats up. My hands brace on the edge of the counter as my ass is suddenly forced back against it, another crash of thunder shaking the house as Lark cups my cheeks and then the back of my head, tilting her own to deepen this and taste me. I'm going to faint. Now I'm surely going to faint. Fuck it feels good, and it's just a kiss. But it's a hell of a kiss all the same. She's really fucking good at it, and in the dark I swear I'd do whatever she told me to. And I just might. The hand of hers not cupping the back of my head moves down along my body, her fingers just pressing in firmly enough to be felt through the fabric. It's possessive, this touch, and I drink it in, wanting to be possessed, wanting to be hers. She's wearing slacks and a tank, all in black, and my hands move cautiously away from the counter to start nudging up the bottom edge of her shirt so I can feel her hips and waist. Her roving hand finds my leg, sliding along its warm surface as she caresses my bare thigh on the outside, hooking her fingers beneath my ass. My legs part for her almost by reflex, the crotch of my panties in imminent danger of flooding. My hands tense on her hips as she slides her touch around my thigh to the front, slipping between my legs to caress a fingertip along the cotton-clad crests of my lips. A dot of hot slickness has soaked through, and as she slowly rubs that dot grows and grows. I shiver against her, kissing back hungrily, begging her silently to rub harder, my hips grinding gently against her hand. Oh, yes, her touch is getting firmer; she's using her fingers and palm now to really press hard. The kiss parts and I tilt my head back, my mouth open as I gasp for air. I'm so good at keeping myself quiet that when I might moan I tense instead, holding it in. But it's really hard. Her mouth is pressed to the skin of my pale, slender throat, her lips caressing softly where her teeth have just pressed. The warm, talented heat of her tongue teases in just the right places, and soon my hands clasp the edge of the counter again to keep me upright again. "Say please, Abby..." she murmurs against my skin, and I feel an instant ripple of heavy need sink right into my marrow. "Please" I whisper, swallowing, waiting. "Good girl." I feel the praise rumble into my skin and soak into it. Again her mouth presses to my throat, but now it latches on, sucking gently and making me writhe. I'm pinned between her and the counter, and as her hand moves from between my thighs, lifts, and then slips back in through the waistband of my panties and down I bite my lip hard to stay quiet. It takes everything I've got to keep still as her fingers slide over my wanton petals, dewy and burning with desire for her. Her digits are just slightly bigger than mine, so when she slides two inside of me I gasp and squirm. There is no sound, no further teasing, nothing more as she starts to finger me quickly and mercilessly. There's barely enough room for it but somehow she makes it happen. The hand on the back of my head hauls me into another heated kiss when she can feel that I'm close. Closer. Closer. Closer! Thunder explodes over the house again, rattling the plates and cups in the cabinet as I cum hard, my body shaking, trembling like a leaf as I clench down on her fingers. Honey slides down into her palm as I feel like I'm full of electricity and fire, captured between the edge of the counter and her hot, strong, demanding body. Larkspur Our mouths slowly part, my lower lip sucked on lightly before being released. I just look at her, dizzy with sexual haze and disbelief that such a wonderful thing could be happening to me. Her eyes are narrowed with delight, and her beautiful mouth quirks up at the corner in a smile. It's a devilish look, a new Look that I've never seen, and I almost wonder for a moment what it means. "Turn around, Abby." She pulls her fingers from me, but I haven't time to shake or shiver as she guides me to face away from her, my hands braced on the counter. Before I know it her hand is pulling my underwear completely off, making me step out of it. I'm nervous all over again and weak-kneed, my hair frazzled around my face from heat and exertion. Suddenly my head is pulled back as she uses my orange, thick frizzy hair as a leash, her already wet hand drawing up my skirt to bare my ass as she caresses it. SLAP! I wince and jerk forward a little. Fuck she's strong. But I'm stubborn, and my brows knit as I press my lips together. SLAP!! Ah fuck! I lift up onto my toes and close my eyes, but I still don't make a sound. SLAP!! "AHHHH!" I cry, the sound ripped from my throat in spite of myself. Jesus fucking Christ, I can feel the hand print throbbing on my right cheek. I almost want to look at it in a mirror to see how pretty it is, but right now I'm forbidden to go anywhere. As if in praise for having finally made a sound, her hand slides back between my legs and she fingers me again. Mercilessly. I shiver and shake, and she purrs into my ear "You will sing for me, Abby. Y' won't hold back." I'd nod but the grip on my hair prevents that. Yet as I hold my tongue her hand swiftly leaves the sheltered space between my legs and crashes into my ass cheek again, and I cry out once more. Thinking quickly I say "Yes Ma'am!" "Good girl." Again her fingers plunge into me, and it really doesn't take long before she forces me to cum again. This time I sing for her, screaming, filling the house with sound as I vent everything - my terror of being abandoned, my secret longing for her, it all goes into this moment. Her fingers milk me for all I've got, slowly churning inside, rubbing my G-spot in just the right way. Eventually her digits still and she slips them from me, and it's all I can do to remain standing. With shaking fingers I pull my skirt back down, watching with wide, hungry eyes as she sucks my dew from her talented digits. My chin trembles as I catch my breath. I'm not upset; I'm just overwhelmed. "D... don't you want me to..." I begin, but she shakes her head. "I can't, my Darling. Not for ano'der week." It takes me a moment to realize that she's talking about her period. Oh god, what terrible timing. I give her a sympathetic look and nod, now at a bit of a loss for what to do. Though as I fidget in the dark, she easily walks by and takes me gently by the wrist. "Doesn't mean you're done tonight..." she murmurs, that new Look burning into my vision. I tremble all over again, and as she easily guides me upstairs I breathe "Yes Ma'am." Chapter 5: Rose I wake up slowly, piece by piece, my body coming to life just after I start to realize that I'm conscious and no longer dreaming. The white sheets beneath me and tangled around me are warm and soft, and I snuggle into them for a moment before I realize that my sheets are purple. Wait a minute. I frown and look around. This isn't my bedroom. And then there's movement in the bed, and a honey-tanned arm slides over my waist and draws me gently backwards until I'm tucked up against Lark's warm body. For a few moments I'm fairly certain that I'm still dreaming, and I really don't want to wake up from a good one like this. But as I listen to the soft rain pattering on the window and the morning birds singing under the eaves of the house regardless, I know that this is the waking world and I'm still in her arms. A big, foolish grin hurts my cheeks, and I snuggle back against her, working my skinny butt into the cup of her hips. My movement makes her move, and she holds me to her more firmly as her knee slips between my own and parts my legs. And... I'm turned on. Shit, it really doesn't take much. I really really really want the arm around my waist to just, you know, slide down until those long, skilled fingers are teasing me. But considering the fact that the grand total for orgasms on my part last night was six, it just seems uncommonly selfish to demand even more of them this morning. That, and my pussy might blow a fuse. Seriously, those were some good orgasms last night. Fuck. We lie there lazily for a good half hour. I know she's awake by her breathing, but she seems about as disinclined to leave the bed as I am. So I remain there in my role as the little spoon and get to thinking. This... whatever we're doing... this relationship is a risky thing for her. She's a professor, sure, but a new one, and she's foreign. That, and she's a lesbian who, I'm fairly certain, is out. In Georgia. Atlanta, sure, but it's still the deep south. If word got out that she was fucking a student she might get a hard time, even if there aren't any rules explicitly stating that she can't. So either she's courageous or foolhardy, and I really can't picture Lark as the foolhardy type. I roll onto my stomach within the boundary of her arm, and my nose is almost bumping hers as I study her face up close. God she's pretty, especially with her slept-in black hair. She grunts softly as she feels my movements, and slowly opens her eyes only to startle very slightly back at seeing me so very close to her face. I startle too with a soft squeak and a blush, and we look at each other a bit self-consciously. Clearing my throat, I pull up a sheet to cover my... oh shit, I'm naked... chest and I mumble "Good morning." Lark slowly relaxes and smiles, I think in amusement at her own surprise. "Abby, good morning. Chilly?" I'm a bit confused until she gestures to the sheets I'm clutching to myself, and I nibble my lip. "Oh, um. Right. Still getting used to, I dunno, being naked around you. You were my professor only a little while ago." Clearly Lark has no problems with this whole nudity thing, because while I'm talking she just gets up out of bed, completely undressed save for a pair of black panties. Her tanned, fit body is gorgeous, soft and lean, and the careless way that she moves around makes it plain that she doesn't mind me seeing her. Which, of course, makes me feel like a prude. I buck up my courage and sit up in bed, letting the sheet fall down to my lap until my smallish breasts and their tight, pink nipples are on display. Honestly, it's not like I'm a virgin. My ex wasn't even my first girlfriend, or even the first girl I'd fucked or been naked around. But Lark is something else entirely. I'd fucked girls before. She's a Woman, with a capital W. "Um, I'll... be right back." Where'd my yellow dress go? Oh, there it is on the floor. My panties must still be in the kitchen. Which of course makes me remember last night and nearly trip all over myself as I head back into my room to get dressed. "Abby..." I hear Lark call. Immediately my feet come to a stop in my doorway, and I place a hand on it. "Yeah?" I wait until I see her come back into view, and by now she's wearing a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Even finger-combed her hair still looks good. "You can still call this off." She says it so casually, but she says it with a mouth and lips that barely move, and eyes that are narrowed. It's like she's expecting to be hurt by my response and trying not to make it look like she dreads it. And so I'm standing here, naked, my inner thighs still kind of sticky from last night (I really should take a shower). I really, by all rights, shouldn't be in the right mindset to talk about this. But somehow I am, and naked or not I turn back towards her. "I know. And I haven't." My stomach twists around as I try to sound brave and courageous. "Um, look. Last night?" I tug down a lock of long orange hair and twiddle it in my fingers. "I've been wanting that to happen all semester. Ever since I first saw you I've had the biggest crush on you. It's all I've ever wanted." My eyes lift to meet hers, and I can see that she looks a little self-conscious even though she's smiling. "And I know that this... what we're doing... might make things uncomfortable at the university for you. So if you need to keep it on the down low, or even need to end it so you don't get fired or punished I understand. I'd never be mad at you." To my surprise I make her sigh, and her body language seems more relaxed as she walks up to me and gently kisses my forehead. "T'anks, my Darling" she whispers against my skin, and the words are just noticeably unsteady enough that I think she's been very moved. And now all my courage has worn right out. I shiver a little and finally give in, wrapping my arms around her and clinging to her. "Just don't end it right now, please. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me." My words are half muffled by her shirt as I bury my face in her shoulder, and I feel pretty proud of myself for not crying as she rubs my back gently. I've been on a roller coaster of crazy emotion this last week, so I think I can be forgiven for acting a little, erm, needy. God, I must seem unstable. I clear my throat after a moment and we part, and without knowing quite what to say, I just rub the back of my neck and wander into my room to get dressed. Lark leans her shoulder on my door frame and crosses her arms in front of her chest, watching me. "Abby?" I'm trying to tug on a pair of shorts while balancing on one foot. "Yeah?" "After last night... don't ye t'ink y'might want a wee shower?" she asks with a rakish smile. Oh, right. With as much dignity as I can muster I shuffle off to the bathroom. I pass by her and she presses her foot down on the black material of my shorts, which are still caught up on my right ankle. And yet another Look is spotted; she can apparently smirk like a motherfucker. With a bit of a tug I pull my foot free of my errant clothing, and thus head into the bathroom doing my best to look indignant. Admittedly the feel of the warm water is refreshing, and I make a point to thoroughly clean my crotch and thighs. About twenty minutes later I'm heading downstairs, and breakfast is already in progress. A pot of tea has already been made up and I pour myself a cup as Lark fixes up some eggs and toast. I take my plate in silence and head back to the table. She's scolded me before for waiting on her before I start, so I just tuck in immediately. A few splashes of hot sauce and a few shakes of pepper on my scrambled eggs make them perfect, and I'm just feeling the pleasant burn as Lark takes a seat across the table and takes up the hot sauce bottle, looking at it as if she doesn't know how it got in her house. "Oh, that's mine." She raises a brow and sets the bottle down. "Oh, come on. I like a little spice in my life, and contrary to the sounds I made last night, I'm not dead." Her smile is one of arrogance mixed with satisfaction as she sips her tea. "You were quite, quite loud, Abby" she murmurs with pleasure. With my eggs finished, I focus on my toast, buttering it and adding a bit of jam. "Well yeah. I mean, you might have spanked me again if I'd been quiet." My knife stops on the bread. "Wait, fuck..." I look over at her, and wrinkle my nose in thought. "I'm going to be silent from now on. I liked that. You're going to have to work for that sort of thing, Alana" I admonish, waggling my butter knife at her. She just leans her chin in her hand and smiles, and those eyes just melt me in my seat and make my knife droop as I sort of forget what I was doing. "I'll work so very hard for it, my Darling" she purrs. "You can be sure of 'dat." The butterflies in my stomach flutter all at once. For the rest of the day we keep working on the house, fixing up the back stairs and sanding them to prepare them for paint. It gives us a chance to really talk this relationship through, which is kind of important given that it has about a thousand complications. We decide to keep it under wraps while we're outside where people can see us. This isn't because we're ashamed of what we feel, only pragmatic. This isn't the gay-friendliest area, and word travels fast. The fact that I'm living with her now has probably already made the rounds amongst some portions of faculty and students alike, but that in itself doesn't prove evidence of what the fussier sects would deem "impropriety". Still, there are times when we take an evening's stroll towards a local park, find a private spot, and make out. Clothing stays on and hands never rove between legs, but she can still make me writhe in the shadows. Again I'm thankful for my ability to stay silent while nearly cumming, because I'm pushed pretty close even so a few times. Lark seems to delight in playing me like a fiddle, and I'm determined to do the same for her when she's ready for receiving my affections. That day finally comes about a week after we begin dating, and she informs me of it by stepping into my evening shower with me. I was just in the middle of soaping myself up with a bath poof when suddenly the bathroom door opens, the curtain is pushed aside slightly and Lark just walks in, naked, and takes my poof from me. What am I going to say? No? Get real. She guides me to turn with my back to her so she can clean my shoulders, and then my lower back, and then my legs. Of course my legs part, and I have to brace my hands on the tiled wall as she scrubs the poof firmly between my thighs. I'm standing right under the shower head, so the water sluices off the soap almost as soon as it goes on, leaving my skin perfectly wet and clean. Her free hand grips my left ass cheek and squeezes. I bite my lower lip, glancing over my freckled shoulder as she then shifts closer and scrubs the poof in within my butt cleft, really cleaning everything. I've had some girlfriends who were really into ass play, so this isn't unfamiliar territory. The poof is allowed to fall into the bathtub basin as she turns me around, my shoulder blades slapping wetly onto the cool tile as she slides her hand up from my stomach to my chest, between my breasts until she's holding me by my throat against the wall. Her demeanor is relaxed but in control - she's not at all angry; that's not what this is about. Immediately my cheeks flush and I begin to breathe faster as I look at her. I can feel my nipples tightening as she just looks at me, the falling shower water sliding off of her body to fall onto our feet. My body softens against her will and I don't try to push her hand away, not even as she plays at cutting off my air. Every inhalation is a gift she allows me, rather than something to be taken for granted, and my mouth remains open, my lips tingling and full as I take in air only as she wishes it. Even the simple act of breathing turns me on now, and I feel my desire run down my inner thighs even as I stand there. This is like some kind of black magic, and I love it. Her free hand finally begins to move, yet instead of moving between my legs, she grips my right wrist and pulls my hand forward until it's between her own legs. I touch her, feeling how smoothly shaved she is. And how...fuck, she is wet. Feeling that directly makes me shiver, her attraction to me confirmed. Not that I really thought all those orgasms were any sort of favor, but, well, it's still nice to know for sure. I rub harder, wanting to please her, and she shifts her hips closer, turning my head to the side with her thumb so she can press kisses to my cheekbone and temple. "We're going t'try somet'in a little different" she purrs into my ear, and I just dumbly nod. "Yes Ma'am". I don't even have to be reminded anymore. I'm guided to kneel in front of her, my knees squeaking a little on the wet porcelain as I rest my palms on her thighs. All up along the line of her perfect body I send my gaze, seeing her expectant, pleased expression. Wanting her to look at me like that for as long as possible, I dip my head just enough to slide my tongue over her bare mons, still watching her expression. Her legs part, one lifting onto the edge of the tub, and her hand gently guides my head in between her thighs. I can't maintain eye contact anymore, but that's fine. She tastes amazing. My tongue flicks and flits over her hot flesh, moving it, prodding it, exploring it. Every woman's built the same, but each one has individual traits, unique little details that make them special. Her pussy is hairless and just...perfect. Her outer labia are soft and smooth, and the only way I see her inner petals is when I part the lot with my fingers or my tongue. And then there's such blossoming pinkness and hot need that it's like it's all been saved for me. It's like when you cut into a plum's dark skin to see the vibrant flesh beneath. Without another moment wasted I dive in, my hands cupping at her ass possessively as I taste her deeply and suck on whatever I find. Above me I can feel her start to writhe and shiver, and soft sounds of want and need resonate in the shower. The hand on the back of my scalp is holding me firmly to my task but I wouldn't quit anyway. This is amazing! I groan into her pussy as her hips grind over my face, her hand keeping me still as she uses me like a toy. One of my hands slides down from her ass so I can caress between her cheeks. I mean, fair's fair, right? She really seems to like that. A heavy leak of her honey flows onto my lips and tongue, so I decide to get a little more invasive. Taking a moment to spit into my hand and make my middle finger slippery, I go back to tasting her as I ease that digit into her ass. She's tight, though it sort of seems to me like Lark hasn't really been with anyone in a while. The woman slaps her free hand on the tile to brace herself, and as I start slowly thrusting my finger into her and sliding my tongue as far into her sex as I can she shudders and moans. And squirts. The hot water from the shower rinses it from my face, but I'm still caught by surprise. Her hand doesn't let me jerk back, and I have to wait for the water sluicing down her body to clean my face as I slowly keep licking and sucking. A heavy trickle of cum coats my tongue, and greedily I suck all that I can from her, swallowing it. This is the first time I've ever tasted her intimately and I just can't get enough of it. Which is all well and good for her, but I'm on fire. Lark finally releases my head and I pull away, strings of cum connecting my mouth to her crotch. My breath shrieks into my throat, and I only realize now that I wasn't really breathing during that whole thing. My hands pull away from her as I cough and brace myself against her thighs, rubbing my fingers against my throat. "Are ye all right, Abby?" she asks, breathless. I nodded and pat her thigh, lifting up my arm above my head to give a thumb's up. She pats my hand and helps me up to stand, and it's a tricky business given that she's a bit unsteady and I'm trying not to lean on her too much. We really need to get a mat for the tub or something. Of course, I've just made the mistake in thinking that we're done. Suddenly I'm spun around, and there's a hand gripping my hair like a leash to direct my face up into the spray of the shower. Somehow I manage to close my eyes just in time, spitting out the water that collects in my gasping mouth and tasting the diluted flavor of Lark's pleasure trickle over my lips and tongue as it all washes away. Her other hand SLAPS loudly onto my ass, and it stings like a mother fucker. "Fuck!' I cry, cringing as she grips my ass cheek and squeezes it hard, making me shudder. Larkspur "Ye didn't answer my question properly..." comes the husky voice behind me, and immediately my nipples tighten at the tone. What question, what question?! I can't even remember what day it is right now, and I'm only passingly sure about my own name. Question, question, question... right! "I'm fine, Ma'am" I finally manage to say. SLAP!! "Louder." Her voice is frustratingly calm for the fever she's putting me in. "I'm fine, Ma'am!" SLAP!! "Louder." "I'M FINE, MA'AM!" I cry, my fingers scraping their nails over the tile as they curl towards my palms. "Good, Abby." I'm led away from the shower and made to stand and drip in the bathroom as Lark turns off the faucet. I don't dare move from where she left me, so I stand there, wiping the water from my face and shivering with need. She then towels herself off, taking her time while I wait, and I think it amuses her when I scowl a little at being put on hold. Once she catches that sour look on my face her hand's a blur before I feel an impact and a sting on my left breast. My eyes widen and I curl forward, my arms hugging my chest. Shyly I look back up into her eyes, and she's giving me that particular silencing Look. There are no more scowls. For my patience I'm rewarded by being dried with a fresh, warm towel, and boy does it feel good. I feel a bit like a child as she does this, ruffling my hair until it's only damp and not sodden. There's a moment when I want her to just cuddle me in warm blankets, but it only lasts a moment before she takes my towel away, hangs it up on the curtain rod to dry, and takes me by the hair again to lead me to the bedroom we now share. I glance back at my old room, which has remained my writing office, but I hardly have time to think about how things have changed. The resilient queen-sized mattress squeaks as I'm pushed onto it, landing on my hands and hip with my back to her. Demurely I tuck my legs beneath me and remain leaning forward on my hands as I watch her over my shoulder. I know she likes this position that I take - she's told me so before - and I can see her admiring it now even as she fetches a few items from a cabinet she keeps in the closet. My eyes widen. That cabinet is full of toys and things, some I'd never seen before dating her. Lark likes to experiment, let's just leave it at that. When she comes back she pauses to slip on a harness over her hips, cinching the straps tight. She also has a few other things in hand, and I wait patiently, my heart starting to beat hard with excitement as my cheeks and the tips of my ears heat up. Lark makes me get on all fours, her hand tapping on my inner thigh to get me to part my knees. The feel of the cool night air on my feverish sex makes me shiver, my skin tightening as her hand slides over my right ass cheek. "Chest down, ass up, Abby" Lark purrs, drawing her nails lightly over the skin of my lower back. My toes curl and I groan softly, doing just as she says. My arms tuck in beneath my chest, and I lay my cheek down on the tops of my flattened hands, waiting upon her creativity and leaving myself at her mercy. I can't see what happens, but I feel the cool slide of gel over my rosebud, and a probing finger makes sure that the lubricant is plentiful inside and out. It's really hard not to squirm and writhe even now, especially with how my pussy's getting neglected. I...may be a bit of a slut for being made to wait. Then I feel the tip of a long, silicone, tapered toy as she works it slowly into my ass. We've tried this with little butt plugs, but I can tell that this one's much bigger. "Do ye like this, Abby?" she asks softly. "Yes Ma'am" I quiver, gripping the sheets with my fingers. SLAP! My ass clenches on the toy even as she keeps pushing, and I whimper. "YES MA'AM!" God, I can feel a hot trickle of honey down my thigh. I must be soaking. The toy keeps getting worked in further and further, its length about six inches and its width less than the realistic dildos she has. The toy tapers back down to a narrow stem and then a flared circlet so that the clench of my body keeps it inside, and no amount of squirming will make it slide back out. I can feel it buried inside of me, the cool silicone quickly warming up to my body temperature and leaving me feeling filled. My quiet reverie is interrupted when I feel a pair of snug rubber shorts being pulled up my legs. I shift as I'm guided to, and soon I feel the cool grip of latex over my hips and ass and upper thighs, sealing in the toy immovably. A sharp slap to my ass feels different through the material, but make no mistake that I still clench and cry out. That one was hard! "You like this..." she announces, striking my rubber-clad ass hard once more and making me whimper. "...so let's see how you handle something else." Something else? I'm about to look when she gathers up my hair and turns my head, pressing my cheek against the sheets directly so I can't see what's coming. Which might be good, considering what comes. A wash of stings sprinkle over my back as something made of many little leather strips cracks down over my skin. I shudder and struggle a little against the hold on my hair, wanting to know what this new thing is. SNAP! It strikes me again and I wail, though the pain is more than tolerable. It's just different. Where getting struck in the ass felt warm, this stings like ice. Lark seems to approve of this reaction, because this new thing snaps over my back many more times, leaving it aching and hot. By the end I'm writhing on the sheets, and she's actively working hard to hold my head down. Never does she yell at me to stop - she wants me to struggle. She wants me to enjoy the feel of fighting against her strength, which is far superior to mine. I haven't even realized that I've been wailing "Please!" until the stings stop, and there's a thud on the bed a few feet from my face. Now I can see it. I've seen these things on erotic toy websites. It's a flogger - black, leather, with many thin tails. It's heavy, which is why when I was struck it really had some oomph. My hand slowly reaches out to touch it, but just before my hand makes contact she barks "Abby!" My fingers freeze and I just remain still, breathing heavily, eyes hazy and dilated. Very slowly I pull my hand back, whimpering and wanting to touch it and feel it in my hands. I'm so distracted by this new tool that I never noticed the detail that there's a zipper in the crotch of the shorts. The little teeth release their hold on one another as Lark pulls the tag up from my mons to just before my ass, and I only realize what this means as she lines up the dildo that she's attached to her strap on harness and thrusts it into me hard. The two toys in my body are only separated by a thin membrane or two of tissue, and at first I cry out in pain. It's pinching! Luckily the toy in my ass is pliable enough that it shifts and immediately things are more comfortable. My knees remain solidly set on the bed to brace against Lark's enthusiasm, the harsh clap of her hips against my ass more of a rut than anything else. I have to grip the sheets with my hands and brace hard against it, my eyes tightly closed and my mouth open as I pant. And then she stops, and if I were thinking clearly I would expect what's coming. But I don't. I'm drunk with pleasure and so down into that place where I want to do anything she says that I don't bother thinking about consequences. So when she pulls out and pushes me over onto my back I'm completely surprised by how much even the soft sheet burns on my skin. My back arches to get away from it, and all this movement shifts the toy lodged deep in my ass. Lark wastes no time and collects my legs up so that my calves rest by her shoulders, and she leans forward until my own knees are pressed up against my chest. The strap on sinks into me again as she looks down at me, the curtain of her black hair claiming me within its circle as her dark eyes devour me possessively. I shudder and moan pitifully as her false cock slides into me again, the toys adjusting all over again. But it's how being taken in this position makes me move that reveals how diabolical she really is. The feeling of being doubly penetrated has, by now, really worked its charms on me, and I arch my back with delight... which grinds the raw part of that expanse right against the bed sheet. My moans turn directly to a cry of heated anguish, and that's evidently her cue to brace her hands by my shoulders and start fucking me at the pace she'd kept before. I'm not going to use the safe word. I'm not. I can handle it! Our safe word, as it happens, is Lily, but I'll be damned if I give in. My hands grip at the bed sheet tightly as she takes me, her head dipping down to kiss me and swallow my cries. It takes me by surprise, given that my eyes are squeezed shut, and I ravenously kiss back. The pain makes me shudder and buck against her, so very close. Then, somehow, she manages to slip her hand in between us, and the pad of her thumb rubs just right over my clit. And I'm done. I can't hold back any more. I scream into her mouth, and the kiss parts to let my ecstatic cry fill up the room as I buck and writhe and contort beneath her. My body quakes and clamps down on the toys inside of it, and I swear my orgasm's prolonged because she's now actively pinning my shoulders to the bed. By her head my calves tense and my toes curl painfully tight as she holds me down, and through my wet eyes I can see her grinning happily. My god, I really am crying. Mystified, I lift my hand to my cheek to touch at the streak of tears flowing down, confused. I feel so overwhelmed, and I look up at her in hopes that she'll explain what's happening to me. "Good girl, Abby" she says softly, caressing my cheek. I almost feel like I want to sob, but I'm not upset. I'm not angry or sad. There's just so much feeling that I don't know what to do with it. That touch to my burning cheek does help to ground me a little, and I focus on easing my hysterical breathing until it's down to something more manageable. Very slowly Lark helps me to get more comfortable, removing first the strap-on and then the shorts. I just lie there, completely spent and wanting to be babied, and she seems more than willing to oblige. The toy from my ass is taken out too, and I lay in our bed and listen for a while as she cleans it all in the bathroom sink. Everything gets put away, and then she comes back to me. A warm cloth is wiped over my face, and then between my legs to clean me up. That cloth is washed in the bathroom as well and left hung up to dry, a small bottle of aloe brought back with her as she tells me to lie on my stomach. As she gently rubs on the cool gel, the burning stings start to ease into a comfortable ache, and she fills my ears with sweet praise and adoration. I knew I could do it. I knew I could be tough enough to please her. And god damn did I ever please myself. I've never fallen asleep so relaxed as I do tonight, the ache of Lark's desire for me throbbing in from my shoulders to my ass. She cuddles me carefully, making sure not to put pressure where she shouldn't. It's like she's aware of everything that I'm feeling, and I trust her to know what I need, when I need it. I'm not sure if I'll ever be allowed to read her the way she reads me, but I'm going to try. I'm going to try to be everything that she needs. Chapter 6: Black-eyed Susan The summer, aside from being life changing, continues on sedately. My garden grows, and every morning I take my tea outside and admire it, watering it if needed. The season's been a bit rainy this year, so the watering can more often than not is dusty rather than wet. I honestly can't say the same for myself. Lark, after being single for so long, is sexually voracious. Er, well, that makes it sound like I'm unhappy. Shit, I'm ecstatic. My libido's ridiculous, so having a lover that can finally satisfy me is refreshing. At this point I think we've broken in our new relationship in every room of the house, and that even includes the cellar during a particularly violent tropical storm that rolled through. The bastard storm undid a lot of the repairs I'd done earlier in the summer, but delicious aches and cramps from how we spent the time still give me the tingles. Outdoor chores are inevitable most days when the weather isn't terrible, and when the weather is miserable I focus on things inside the house. I know it's a big help for Lark. She has a lot of work to get through even during the summer. While she's tenured, the department still expects her to produce a certain number of publications every year, and right now she's neck deep in a study of various types of Gaelic and its influence on early authors in the UK and Ireland. There's not a thing I can do to assist with the content, but keeping the house clean and running errands is definitely doable. It makes me feel, well, domestic. I never thought I'd enjoy this sort of traditional role, but I do. It's more important than I thought it was. Some crazy how it's the beginning of August, and I've been washing linens all day. Around supper time Lark tells me to go take a shower and prepare to go out, and I'm more than willing to be spoiled a little bit tonight. The shower does wonders to bring me back to life, and with my bright orange hair in a French braid I decide to wear a nice white dress and a pair of lilac stockings. A pair of black suede ankle boots help to round out the look. Lark has on a pair of leather pants that tuck into knee-high boots with a slight heel, and a loose dark blue tunic that ties in the back so accentuate her waist. She even has her black hair pulled back along the sides with a pretty clip. As always we remain platonic in public, enjoying each other's company without giving off dating vibes. It's just safer that way right now. The bar we go to is one we like, and it serves good dinners along with a wide selection of drinks. Along with my hamburger I make it a point to order a Guinness just to irritate her, and Lark just shakes her head when it arrives. Apparently what's on offer in the United States just isn't as fresh as the sort offered right in Dublin where it's brewed. The general mood in the place is vibrant and relaxed. The humidity from yesterday has been cut by a heavy rain today, so it's a lot more comfortable to be out. A lot of people wander in and out, likely because the bar is located on a popular pedestrian thoroughfare just outside the city. I like seeing the people here when school's not in session. The bars are no longer choked by undergraduates looking to score or whore. I suppose that's mean to say, but when you run into a girl who just wants to make out with you to please her boyfriend you tend to get thrown off the whole idea entirely. I'm right in the middle of taking a sip from my half-finished beer glass when my blood turns to ice. Susan, my ex, has just walked into the bar. Lark must see the expression on my face, because she turns to look at her too. "I need to go to the bathroom" I say softly, and excuse myself from the booth we're sharing. My face is painfully flushed and I just want to die. What would I even say to her? I'm so angry at her for everything, and yet she feels like she's a victim. My stomach's so upset that I'm afraid of throwing up, so I splash some cold water on my face in the bathroom sink. The sound of the rushing tap hides the sound of the bathroom door opening, and I turn to grab a paper towel to dry my face off when I see Susan standing there. Drips of water trickle down my cheeks and chin to my dress, leaving little spots just over my breasts. With a shaking hand I take a paper towel and dry myself off, determined not to talk to her. Not ever. "Slut." That word comes out with such menacing acidity that I feel like it's eating into my skin. "Excuse me?" I ask, incredulous. Susan has her arms crossed as she leans her hip on the sink. "Slut. Whore. Take your pick, Honey." She doesn't look any different than she did months ago, and I only recognize now how trashy she is. Her blond hair looks dried out and frizzy, and she wears far too much make up to hide her inelegant features. The only reason she's so thin is that she smokes so much. "This is asinine. Excuse me." I'm furious but trying to stay polite; I don't want to cause a scene, I just want to go home. As I try to walk by her to the door she presses her hand to my chest, and for half a disgusting second my body likes it, remembering her. She was an aggressive lover and I'd liked it, but knowing what I know now she was amateurish at best. "I said excuse me" I insist. A hot glob of saliva is spit onto my face and I startle back, shivering at the hatred in it. My hand lifts to try and scrape it away, but she knocks my arm away and shoves me on the chest, pushing me to stumble back. "No" she growls, stalking towards me. Her tattered jeans, sneakers, and band T-shirt tell me a story that would be sad if I didn't despise her so much. "Why are you doing this?!" I cry desperately, trying to get around her again, and yet again meeting with a harsh shove to my chest. "Because you had to be a selfish fucking cunt. You have everything, everything I've ever wanted. You go to school, you've got good grades, you're smart. You're going somewhere! And I just wanted something too, but no. You saw that other girl in my bed and you just dumped me like I was nothing!" She shoves me again, and this time it's so hard that I trip backwards and fall to the ground. The back of my skull cracks onto the brick wall and I see stars, and soon enough I feel the trickle of hot blood down my neck from a deep gash in the back of my head. Susan walks over to me and pulls her belt from her jeans slowly, gathering it up and folding it double in her right hand as she grabs my hair in her left. My arms lift to protect me, and through them I see the bathroom door open once more. Lark is standing there, and what she sees makes her eyes narrow. Her left hand is splayed on the door, her fingertips tense as she pushes it all the way open until the handle clicks on the wall adjacent. Susan looks over her shoulder hatefully at the intrusion. "Fucking get out, bitch. We got business" she snarls, turning back to me as if my savior can be so easily dismissed. I'm so scared that I'm breathing fast, my hands gripping Susan's left arm to try and get her to let me go. Just as the belt is coming down, it's grabbed and yanked from my attacker's hand, and when Susan turns to look Lark CRACKS it against her stomach with so much force that it makes her cough and bend double. The sound and the sight of it through the open door has drawn one of the bar staff, and Lark drops the belt on the floor. "'dis woman was attacking my roommate. I don't want trouble, but I want her held until 'de police arrive." At first the man looks confused, and then he looks at me. I'm in tears and my hair is all out of sorts. A smear of blood is on the brick behind my head, and a really red bruising patch is blossoming on my chest, visible from the tear at my neckline. "Oh Christ. Give me a second." He pulls a walkie talky from his belt, and as he radios in to the other staff Lark helps me get to my feet. At this point I don't care about appearances, and I just cling to her and cry. Susan groans and eyes the door, but Lark looks coldly at her and snarls quietly "Don't you dare move. You take what's comin' to ye like an adult." Before too long a few cops arrive, take statements, and Susan is cuffed and taken away while I'm led outside to a paramedic's van. They examine my head, look into my eyes to check for concussion, and then we head to the hospital so I can be stitched back up. Because of where we are, Lark can't come in and see me. She isn't even allowed in the ambulance. I have to wait the few hours it takes for them to examine me and record my injuries, then wash and dress my wounds before I'm prescribed painkillers and then released.