1 comments/ 18820 views/ 0 favorites Tangled Passions Pt. 02 Ch. 17-19 By: Jazz E. Part 2 -TRANSITION XVII. Jenn had come from a wealthy family. For the first two years they had dated, she had done her best to keep that fact from Matt, indeed, from anyone. Notwithstanding, she had brought a substantial private income into the marriage. Being raised in a family of means, with abundant domestic help – a butler, a maid, and a nanny – Jenn could very easily and very comfortably have been a woman of leisure. That was really what had been expected of her; but, in looking at her mother, she had decided she wanted something more. She told them that she needed some meaning in her life – college, a profession, and a family that was hers, not the nanny's. They had laughed. "What's wrong with money and privilege?" they had said – still, they humoured her. She had gone after what she wanted with a fierce determination, fed, not by wealth and privilege, but by idealism and pride. If not for the intervention of the cruel hand of fate, she would have been there yet. And now this. Another blow. Another random act of interference dealt her by life – by fate. When Matt had said, "I have to leave you for a bit..." she couldn't believe it. It felt like one of those dreams that wake you up with an adrenaline rush but make no sense. He was going to leave her? But how? Why? They'd survived so much together. Would she have to be alone? She just couldn't believe it. She just couldn't – although somewhere deeply hidden inside she could. "Do you understand?" he had asked. She wanted to scream "NO! Of course not!! How could I possibly understand something that makes no sense?!?" But she didn't. She stayed silent, trying to control her shivering body. He had just told her that he loved her, and that was, she knew, the truth; "...temporary..." he'd said. So she'd lied, "I think so?" She thought she might have heard him whisper his love once again as he slipped out of their bed, got dressed, and left with a small bag. He had taken his wedding ring off. What did that mean? He didn't say good-bye – he didn't say a word. He just left – left her there, curled catatonically in the bed, soaking the pillow with her tears. Still, she didn't actually blame Matt. It was the fault of no one, for no blame can be attached to the meandering machinations of destiny. As the saying goes, "Shit Happens!" And the previous months had been sheer emotional torture. She had been ambushed by Matt's vexation; blind-sided by his careening, unpredictable libido. In some ways, it was almost a relief to get some time off. She wasn't sure how long she could have gone on like that. Yet she was painfully lonely for him right from the moment he left. Funny how that worked. It was just like that old sexist cliché, she thought, "...can't live with 'em; can't live without 'em." The night Matt left, Jenn cried herself out. She had fallen asleep crying and awoken crying. She cried for herself and she cried for their marriage, yet, she realized, much of her crying was for Matt himself. He had sounded so small and scared. The confusion, the fear, whatever it was had been eating him up from the inside. But she hadn't been able to help – and that made her cry all the more. Her poor Matt. He was mixed up or lost and she had not healed him. She had failed him. She declined work that day and spent the morning lying in bed crying. But by midmorning, there were no more tears. Looking around through red rimmed eyes, she thought about it again and again. No, it wasn't her fault. Granted she hadn't healed him, but he hadn't come to her either. She had tried to respect his right to privacy – his right to grapple with his own demons – and had. His demons had apparently taken the upper hand; nevertheless, if it had had to come to this, that wasn't her fault either. "If you love something, set it free. If it returns it’s yours. If it doesn't, it never was." Although that wasn't exactly true. Surely, they had belonged to one another during the strong years of their marriage. Regardless, he was gone and life went on. Jenn wanted him to come back so bad it hurt, but she knew that she couldn't just sit and wait. The days of pining away for an errant love were long past. “Open your eyes, girl. Turn the page.” So she tried to go on in some semblance of normality. Jenn began accepting work again right away – the very next day. A classroom full of someone else's kids is enough to take your mind off a great many things. Well over a year ago, after her dear children were killed, in the numbing aftermath of tragedy, she had been advised to get back into teaching – subbing. She had, at first, though it a daft idea, but the fleeting interactions, the marginal relationships built between a substitute teacher and her school children were just right – therapeutic but not overwhelming. There had only been two nightmarish incidents. Twice she had, from behind, caught sight of a little blond figure trundling innocently down a hallway. Wearing baggy denim overalls and a bright t-shirt, with hair gathered into a loose ponytail hanging swinging down to the middle of her back, the scrunchie lying at the nape of her neck, matching her shirt. Jenn's blood had frozen in her veins, her lightheaded confusion swirling about her like a dust devil. In the terribly long moments it took to realize that it wasn't Lisa or Lucy walking there before her, her mind raced wildly with irrational hope and joy, only to be crushed by the cold truth of reality. Initially petrified by the excruciating pain of vivid memories re-illuminated, she had dissolved into tears, right there in the school. Everyone was understanding and sympathetic, though no one really understood. Still, it had only happened twice. The third time she had been prepared. For the most part, there is no time to brood in an active classroom. Her busy time at work completely precluded the luxury or pain of her lonely depression. That was what she wanted. That was what she needed. She could keep herself busy during the day all right, but it was the nights, echoing about the empty condo, that she hated. Loneliness easily gave way to despair. She found it hard to concentrate on anything she read. She'd watch a video but not be able to remember anything about it. She found that she was masturbating more but with only limited success, as Matt featured in most of the fantasies she conjured up. That was hardly surprising, she reminded herself, as she had never had sex with anyone other than him. It was hard to believe, having grown up in the seventies, but she had been a virgin when they met and had been monogamous ever since. Now she couldn't think of whom to call on for solace, indeed she wasn't sure she wanted anyone's solace. Still, she wasn't about to go down to depression. It had almost got her once before, she'd give it no chance this time. In the months that had followed her girls' deaths, she had plunged into a depression that had approached catatonia. After having been out for a few hours, Matt would discover her sitting in her housecoat in the kitchen before a cold cup of coffee, staring blankly out the window. When he asked her, she could not remember what she had been thinking about – she could not remember sitting there, not anything. The short, rainy days of Vancouver's winter had covered her with such a suffocating oppression that she began to consider suicide. Seconal – already prescribed; she had looked up in a medical book how many she would need to go to sleep permanently. She had actually checked to see if the hose for the built-in vacuum would fit over the exhaust of her car; it would. She had thought about where to leave the car and her keys when she jumped off Lions Gate Bridge. She had even written a couple drafts of suicide letters, which she had destroyed because even in her despondency she thought they sounded much too melodramatic. It was as her careful consideration was reaching its ultimatum that Matt had finally insisted, after suggesting it for weeks, that they seek some medical help to combat their deep funk. Although Matt's depression ran more quietly, more subtly, she knew that he too had suffered immensely. Perhaps, he'd thought, they should both get counseling. In retrospect, she could now see, he'd very much needed help, as well. Jenn had always, in the past, been able to elevate his mood with just her usual high level vivacity. Now, she passively accompanied him to their family doctor and let him explain his concerns as a worried spouse. The young doctor, in a flash of astute insight, questioned them about Jenn's state of mind during previous winters. They had wondered what possible relevancy that could have, nonetheless, Matt helped Jenn respond. She had, in fact, never particularly liked Vancouver winters. The best winters they could recall were winters they had taken Christmas vacation in the sunny south or, before kids, when they had skied a lot. Notwithstanding, winter had generally never been a happy season for her. Yearly she had resigned herself to winter as a time of simply keeping busy – staying occupied until spring arrived. This year, of course, her natural grieving had compounded it. The doctor had suggested they use some full spectrum lighting at home in the evenings to combat what he referred to as, “severe winter depression – technically, Seasonal Affective Disorder or SAD.” The difference a few lights had made was amazing. Her plans of suicide faded like bad dreams. Still sorely grieved by her loss, she was able to tap some inner resilience in order to cope with her days and nights. She never told anyone about her suicidal investigations. She filed the texts of her unused good-byes into a dark back corner of her memory where she might never have to read them again. Lying out evenings, naked under sun lamps, or visiting spas to lie in their tanning beds Jenn successfully beat down the stiflingly short, dull grey days of midwinter. And even after the pain of grief grew less and less acute, Jenn continued to surround herself with Gro-Lux lights and frequent tanning salons as a matter of course. She had, in the end, been able to give and receive the vital support Matt had wanted so much to share with her. The simple electric remedy had helped them both through – raised them both out of the depths of despair. Her year-round golden tan was just an added bonus. Jenn decided she would only be able to hold off this depression the same way – lots of activity and lots of light. Their echoing suite seemed to be more – or less – than empty. It felt like a void – a vacuum that sucked away her vitality. She kept the lights on until very late, and made herself bathe in the warmth of the ultraviolet tanning lamps regardless of how she felt. Getting called for work most days helped keep her out of the draining emptiness. Furthermore, she found that she could attend aerobics classes at a local gym every evening, and proceeded to do so. Maybe even more than the lights, aerobics alleviated her gloom. She had always loved dance, so during a grueling hour of pounding, high-stepping, arm flinging exercise, she could escape into the music absolutely. The instructor, a pretty young blonde with a gorgeously shaped body, was excellent. Although her well-shaped breasts bounced and trembled within their restraint, her muscular body seemed to be taut with an athletic springiness that suggested endurance and determination. Leading the class in increasingly strenuous workouts, she managed everyday to take them all a little further, while keeping their tired muscles just this side of agony. Nothing, other than the steps and the beat tainted Jenn's consciousness as she intently watched the lithe, tireless instructor. The blue of reality retreated very slowly back, for the while, beneath her sweat and panting breath. Delicious exhaustion dulled the pain for hours afterwards. The two-pronged approach – it kept her fit, active and occupied, at the same as it kept her out of her lonely condo. Nevertheless, there were times when she found herself wandering rudderless about the place, being reminded of Matt's absence constantly by this or that. His dresser still, of course, housed most of his clothing and although, after the first week, none of it filtered through her touch via the laundry, the dresser itself was a sad reminder. She kept his side of the closet closed all the time; still, his lingering scent wafted into her senses as she stood choosing her own outfit. Some mornings she would find herself simply standing there, tears trickling gently down her cheeks, wondering where he was and what he was doing. She had not heard from him except for a message on her machine after the first week. “Sorry;” he had said. “I’m okay. I hope you’re managing all right. Love you,” and that was it. She was deliberately avoiding his things – not putting on his favourite CDs, or sitting in his favourite chair. “How healthy is that?” Jenn worried. “Like I need to become more obsessive!” She paused, considering her behaviour objectively. “Regardless of when he returns, she reminded herself, “I’m alone for now and I'd better accept that pretty damn quick.” Putting things in order in her head, getting her priorities straight is always easier said than done, this was ‘do or die’. She had no desire to founder on these reefs. If she was to survive such a spell of bad weather, she'd better be able to batten down, and push on. Jenn decided that a full frontal attack was best. Gritting her teeth, straightening her back defiantly, she put on Animals, Matt's all-time favourite Pink Floyd album, and sat herself down in the recliner – his recliner, with a big glass of his scotch. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the music. Whether the glow of good scotch was a catalyst or not, she discovered, to her delight, a warm release that spread like massaging fingers through her tensed body – relaxing, soothing and calming. Feeling better than she had for quite a while, she casually pulled a paperback book from the untouched pile of magazines on the end table. With mild curiosity, she opened it up. Skimming at first, she began to read and was soon completely engaged. It was called A Victorian Sampler, and was, indeed, one of those books that she had occasionally seen Matt reading. She had never actually read one herself. This particular one was a compilation of excerpts from various anonymous nineteenth century erotica. The graphic, sensual descriptions were strangely seductive, yet disturbing. Her respiration was elevated, her armpits wet as she carefully returned the book to the rack. Over the next few days, during moments of inactivity, she looked around for the other editions she knew he had. Regardless of her intentions, for she vaguely tried to delude herself with the idea that any books she found would just be incidental to her general survey of the suite, she was rewarded with the discovery of a fairly large and varied collection of classical erotic literature in paperback. The marred covers and stained pages made her wonder just when Matt had read them all. Of the stories she read initially, while she considered many to be pulp trash or just plain overkill, a few piqued her interest – titles like Beatrice and Blue Velvet. Clarissa, the main character in ...Velvet infused Jenn with an odd feeling of something resembling envy; although, she thought, how could she, a modern woman be envious of a fictional character in a hazy setting somewhere in the past? It was ridiculous. Still she couldn't help but wonder what it would have been like to be Mrs. Denbigh – to be made to participate in such lewd and lusty experiences. Mind you, Clarissa’s submission was entirely due to her somewhat over-developed sense of duty. Such strength in commitment, Jenn realized, was rather anachronistic. Jenn suspected that she herself would never have the will to take her duty to such extremes, regardless of promises made by either her husband or herself. Despite it being a complete fiction, Jenn found Clarissa's transition from reluctant puppet to skilled manipulator intriguing. Were such remarkable events even possible? Such uninhibited eroticism? Jenn was curious, to say the least, and rereading various passages never failed to leave her slightly agitated. Notwithstanding, she could neither work, exercise nor read every minute of the day, so in an effort to avoid being at loose ends, as it were – at home with nothing to do – she began striking out on her bicycle, on what she initially thought of as shopping expeditions. Most of the time she had nothing to buy, but she didn't let a blank shopping list discourage her. Even with no pressing needs, Jenn found cruising her mountain bike past the stores – the simple act of window-shopping – to be therapeutic. She had never used the RockHopper much. Matt had bought them all good bikes so they could tour as a family, but it was never to be. She had ridden the bike only occasionally in the past two years. But the light, fully suspended bicycle was very easy and pleasant to ride; hence her trips became longer and more frequent. As she pedaled further and further afield, she basically discarded the shopping pretext. During those rides, Jenn gradually became aware that, despite being alert to the world passing around her, her deep, disturbing troubles seemed to fade into the background. So on days she wasn't called to work, she packed a lunch in her backpack and headed out. She could be gone from the condo for hours – free of her heavy undercurrent for the duration of the ride. As she rode aimlessly through different areas of town, she discovered all kinds of obscure, esoteric specialty stores. The eclectic nature of big cities was obvious in the myriad of tastes catered to by this entrepreneur or that. In her travels about the metropolis, she saw, not only parts of Vancouver she had never seen before, but goods and services she had never suspected actually existed. The churning, milling crowds of Chinatown scared her at first. It was like suddenly stepping into another land. The alien smells and alien sounds were disorienting, but she persevered and was rewarded with the discovery of several curious and intriguing shops, not the least of which was a seedy looking diner that served the best Chinese food she had ever eaten. While heading to Stanley Park one day, she walked her bike for a stretch and peered intently into all manner of interesting shop windows along the way. Lost in her own thoughts, she suddenly found herself among the gays and transvestites of Davie Street. It was an interesting subculture, close up, and what she saw was not nearly as strange or frightening as she had once believed. There was a warmth in the air – a comfortable tolerance that made her smile. Not all of her explorations and adventures were while she was on her bike, either. Returning to her car one night, after taking in a movie on theatre row, she inadvertently cruised a few blocks with the hookers and transsexuals of Seymour Street. Riding SkyTrain, one afternoon, she disembarked underground, at Granville Station, and found herself completely alone in the echoing cavern. The isolation, once the train had left, was thick and cloying. She hurried up the passage towards the surface, her eyes on the floor as she attempted to hold down the irrationally rising panic she felt. Turning the corner at the top of the first escalator, she bumped into a vagrant, who asked in a hollow voice if she had any spare change. Mumbling incoherently, she tossed him a few coins from her pocket before racing past. He didn't know how close she came to screaming. She was trembling and panting when she finally arrived on the street. And in a way, the open platforms of the elevated stations could be just as frightening. Alighting at what she thought was a deserted stop, she caught sight of a gang of young thugs eyeing her appraisingly from the shadowy edges of the station. She hurried off towards her destination, unable to resist looking over her shoulder at them as they casually began to move her way. She felt uncomfortably vulnerable – helpless and exposed for the moments before she descended to the street. It was a curious feeling. Tangled Passions Pt. 02 Ch. 17-19 Exploring Gastown and the waterfront, she saw the rubbies and junkies who populated the dark and dangerous fringes of what we like to call civilization. The more variety of life she saw, the more she found herself noticing the edges of places. Out of the corners of her eyes, she watched for naked glimpses of the underbelly of the city. The poverty and despair was heartbreaking; but, in a way, the preening and strutting poses of the terminally fashion-conscious yuppies and the single cruisers were almost as sad. In seeing the rudderless, soulless masses going day to day about their perceived business, Jenn began to wonder if there wasn't, perhaps, something more to it. Did she really want to just settle herself back into the rat race? Perhaps she could just stay an observer – riding through the world but not part of it. The raw flesh of a big city is not always where one might expect. She began to focus more on the people – the incredible diversity of people that made up a city, looking upon the secrets of the city as more than just a convenient distraction. She began to notice some of the quiet multitude of people who lived beyond society's bounds – outside its constraints. How did they live that way? What was it like? She was curious to know why someone would choose to live as an outsider, as so many of them had obviously, deliberately done. What freedoms had they given up to do so? What new freedoms did they now enjoy? Jenn idly wondered if she could ever live that way; live such an alternate lifestyle, in which the rules were ever dynamic and insubstantial. Could she ever become that asocial – be a true nonconformist? "Not likely," she usually conceded. Riding innocently, observantly along an urban trail in south Burnaby, through middle-class residential districts, skirting shopping centres here and there, making the odd foray into a mall or plaza, Jenn discovered yet another intriguing small business. Slightly off the beaten path – on the edges once again – near Metrotown, was a small, modest looking storefront called Love & Kisses. The window was almost obscured with layers of pale sheers, but, peering through the gaps, Jenn could just make out a sort of lacy confusion of lingerie and nighties. Impulsively, she locked her bike and entered the shop to look around. The woman at the counter glanced up from her magazine and smiled but said nothing as Jenn wandered into the narrow aisles. The lingerie was all cute but somehow tawdry or dated – mostly red and black lace – much of it with cutouts as if it weren't already see-through enough. But at the back of the store, Jenn came upon a selection of sex toys – dildos and vibrators and cock rings and lubricants – like she had never laid eyes on. It had been a couple of weeks since Matt had left and Jenn was not only missing him, but also missing what he could give. Visions of sex tumbled across her thoughts. She pictured Matt’s genitalia, and smiled. She adored his asymmetry – the way, whether he was cold and all shrunken, or hot and baggy, or aroused and firm, his right ball always hung a little lower than his left; and the left one always a little more forward – out front. As a result, his dick always curved a little to the right. And it was most pronounced when he was semi-turgid. When they had first gone out he had, she remembered, been rather self-conscious about it, but she had reassured him that it was really, “...very cute.” There, standing trembling in the dim aisle, a searing heat rushed to her cheeks and between her legs, doing its best to burn away the smothering melancholy. Reluctantly she admitted to herself that she was horny, and her own fingers just wouldn't quite satisfy. Checking about her to see if anyone was watching, she began to pick up and handle the display items. Large latex phalluses, wobbling gently, invitingly in her hands, inspired within her feelings she couldn't quite identify. A cheeky naughtiness rippled across deeper, more profound longings, which she couldn't clearly discern. Seized by a mischievous desire to do what she had never had the nerve to even try, she made a sudden choice and took the unopened box from a lower shelf. She read the box carefully. It was a colossal, vibrating dildo, lewdly sculpted as a caricature of a mammoth erection out of soft, flesh tone latex. It had lots of features, including fluid bladders for warming, a lubricant reservoir, and variable speeds for three different vibrating modes that could be used separately or in combination. Holding the package against her chest, she looked around once more. It was, she realized, a rather sleazy shop – dim and dusty with cheap, drab decor, but it had an air of excitement and exoticism about it that could be neither denied nor explained. A gypsy spirit was alive in there, Jenn was suddenly convinced. After steeling her nerve, she took her purchase to the till. She paid for it with hardly a word, and as she left the store, the bag containing her new treasure held tightly in her hand, she turned to mumble "Bye" to the clerk. The woman replied lightly with a knowing grin, "Have fun." Out in the sunlight, Jenn struggled to hide the parcel in her backpack and only as it disappeared from sight beneath the flap did she realize how tense she had been. A funny feeling crept down from her knotted gut to tickle her between the legs. The excitement of the purchase and the anticipation of its use conspired to put an irremovable, self-satisfied grin on her face. She unlocked her bike, donned her helmet and headed directly home. Though no eyes could possibly see her, Jenn closed the drapes once she got back and poured herself a sherry after putting on some classical music. She unwrapped her parcel with the care of a bomb defuser. She couldn't explain why, but she felt frightened, as if something were about to happen over which she had no control. In the familiar surroundings of her own home, the thing looked monstrous. It couldn't have been that big in the store, could it? Laying it gently on the carpet she went quietly to the bedroom to fetch the jelly they kept in the night table, and to the kitchen to fetch the spare dry cells, which Matt had insisted they would need someday. As completely subdued as she felt, Jenn couldn't help but smile. Finally a use for Matt's D cells – little did he know. After inserting the batteries, and ensuring that it actually ran, Jenn experimented with the various modes, running it over her cheeks and neck. Slowly, bashfully, she unbuttoned her blouse and allowed the shivering behemoth to play across her breasts. Her nipples stiffened as ignition routines slowly got underway deep in her control centres. Undoing her jeans and trying to insinuate the rubber tool into her panties, she realized that her completely unnecessary modesty was making her explorations nigh on impossible. So, standing to first finish her drink, she stripped off all her clothing before settling back into the comfortable warmth of the recliner. Her left hand reflexively cupped her right breast, forefinger and thumb rolling her erect nipple gently, while she slowly lowered the humming machine to her crotch. With gentle, unsure strokes, she delicately touched it to her labia. The cleft lips mildly responded to the resonant thrumming by unfolding like a morning blossom – opening to expose her sensitive clitoris. Jenn couldn't believe how good it felt. She stopped only long enough to decide she couldn't be bothered at the moment with the lubricant reservoir, and, after spreading KY Jelly liberally over its flesh-like surface, she resumed her stroking. Her eyes fluttered closed as murmurs of contentment rumbled in the back of her throat. She felt her hips begin to move involuntarily, shifting slightly to meet the stimulation. And almost before she could notice, the phallic strokes changed to pokes and prods. Abruptly, as her hips heaved forward, the massive tip pushed hard against vagina and slid past its lubricated entrance. The diameter of the vibrator, coupled with its intricate movement, caused shock waves of electricity to encompass her body. Pinching her nipple hard, Jenn began to rock the chair violently as she thrust the pseudo-erection in and out of herself, faster and faster. The hum of the vibrator, crescendoing against her clitoris, finally ignited her orgasm. She couldn't stop. Bouncing up and down, forward and back, she felt the monster's rubber head bruising her cervix; still the climax carried on. Sticking her other fist into her mouth to quell her threatened scream, she felt the energy begin to drain. Her vaginal muscles still pulsed against the latex shaft as her hand finally stilled, leaving the whirring end protruding from quivering lips – from her sodden bush. Phew! The drought had ended, it seemed, with a violent cloudburst. Jenn lay for long minutes, motionless, except for the heaving of her chest. The gradual expulsion of the fleshy dildo finally brought her back to earth. She couldn't believe what she had achieved by herself. It made her feel, in a funny sort of way, proud. She'd be all right. And, the lack of warmth and personality notwithstanding, so was her new toy. It wasn't as good as the real thing only because it was disembodied, but it was, Jenn had to admit, far, far better than nothing. Try as she might, however, she would never again achieve a completely solo orgasm with anywhere near the intensity of that first try. Cycling and masturbating were all very well, but it was only during the short changing and showering time after her aerobics classes that Jenn got any opportunity to engage in adult conversations. Working irregularly at so many different schools, Jenn rarely spent any time in staffrooms, so most of her human interaction at work was with children. She missed being able to express ideas and discuss controversies with her peers, and she felt another hole, or perhaps just, another corner of the same hole, opening up. Maybe it was a sign of her healing – that she was able to acknowledge it now, but her need for companionship slowly gained prominence, and she began to look for excuses to tarry after aerobics classes. She struck up conversations with some of the other ladies as they got changed after class and their chats were always pleasant; but they were invariably shallow and short, for, of course, the others were all anxious to get home to husbands and lovers. Jenn felt the terrible loneliness creeping back again, as, again she was left all alone in the empty lobby of the centre. In an effort not to aggravate her desolation by rushing back to her empty home, Jenn sat in the lobby one evening and began to read the plethora of community literature available there. Emerging from the office, the class instructor noticed her there and spoke to her. They chatted easily for a long while before saying good night and parting. Jenn felt the instant and intuitive recognition of a new friend. She went home feeling warmed – hopeful. The next night, Jenn waited deliberately. When Lisa, the instructor, appeared Jenn greeted her warmly, and as they began a friendly conversation, it was Lisa who suggested they go for coffee. Smiling happily, Jenn, felt a rush of warm relief as she eagerly agreed. At the adjoining cappuccino bar, they reintroduced themselves. Sipping hot lattés and dipping biscotti, they laughed and gossiped like old friends. Their personalities seemed to mesh like fine machinery. Jenn felt a happiness she had forgotten about – a contentment she had not really known in over two years. She was, understandably, reluctant to say good-bye; dreading the silent emptiness of her condo. It was Lisa who made the necessary first move. "I wish we could talk all night, but I've really got to go." She stood up, and picked up her bag. Jenn rose too. "See you then – tomorrow," Lisa said, her bright blue eyes suddenly piercing Jenn's. They hesitated awkwardly. Jenn finally extended her hand tentatively, as if to shake. "Yeah, see you. It's been really nice. Thanks." Jenn felt embarrassingly tongue-tied and uneasy. Suddenly, Lisa leaned forward and hugged Jenn tightly. Jenn's own tension must have been obvious, for Lisa whispered secretly into Jenn's ear, "Nihil carborundum illegitimi – that's sorta Latin. Loosely translated; don't let the bastards get you down." She stepped back, still holding Jenn's shoulders, as Jenn's hands rested on hers. "Thanks for the coffee," she smiled. "You take care now, okay?" It was everything Jenn could do not to dissolve into tears. She let go with a nod and a smile as Lisa strode out the door. Some part a Jenn's brain noted, objectively, that she moved not really with feminine daintiness, but with a sort of carnal resilience. Jenn had liked Lisa from the start of the classes. She had a kind of voluptuousness about her – strong, exciting, yet soothing. And now Jenn somehow knew she had found a friend. "Lisa," she repeated dreamily, later one evening, again over lattés, "I once knew a beautiful little girl by that name – Lisa and her sister, Lucy," she said dreamily. She was getting better. In Lisa's company, thoughts of her daughters were not quite so sharp or hollow. Lisa had smiled and waited. Jenn was thankful she didn't ask for elaboration. That little glimpse was enough for a start. Despite Lisa’s maturity, Jenn could see in her some of her own little girls. Apart from everything else, she liked that in her, as well. "You do a lot of aerobics," Lisa observed another evening over coffee. "Yeah," Jenn allowed. "Exercise is just about the only release I get." She felt comfortable with this girl – woman. She knew they could be friends. It wasn't just the name – one of her own babies now grown up to a beautiful young woman. Nonetheless, it surprised her when she heard herself adding, "Other than my..." She had caught herself just before she said, "fingers and vibrator," yet her meaning seemed frightfully obvious, at least to herself. It had come out by accident; a very private thought, unintentionally voiced – alluded to. The blush she felt suffuse into her already exercise-flushed face embarrassed and confused her all the more; yet, somehow it pleased her as well – that she already felt so at ease with her beautiful companion. When she looked up at Lisa, mumbling, "Sorry, I shouldn't have... I mean..." she peered straight into deep, concerned compassion. There was no trace of a blush there. "No husband?" Lisa queried, nodding to the ring on Jenn's wringing hands. Lisa's own fingers were unadorned. "Yes, but," Jenn tried to recover her composure, "he's going through some sort of mid-life crisis, the dear man." She smiled wistfully. She didn't really want to say anything. But she had to face the facts, didn't she. "He's left for a bit," she managed to say not nearly as flatly as she felt. Trying to make light of it, she laughed wryly, "We hadn't been getting it on too much lately, anyway." "And you're so beautiful," Lisa said in complete candor, staring piercingly. There was an almost supernatural depth in her glinting eyes. It made Jenn shiver. "Thank you," Jenn replied, dropping her eyes and feeling a slight flush wash her cheeks once again. Then, in an effort to steer the conversation away from herself, she inquired, "What about you? Do you have a 'significant other'?" "Oh, my – uh – roommate left a few months ago, and moved to Toronto." She knew it wasn't her place to pry, but Jenn silently wondered about the gender of the departed roommate. Had there been a relationship there? Something about the way Lisa had rolled the word – roommate. She wondered if Lisa was, perhaps, gay – though, she reprimanded herself, what would it matter? Just as Lisa had not pressed for clarification on Jenn's own cryptic reference to her daughters, she would not pry into Lisa's past relationships or sexual proclivities. Lisa shrugged. "Still, I don't really mind being alone – being independent for a while. It's not so bad." Jenn shivered with an excitement that, she realized, could only be sexual. She had never ever considered herself a candidate for a lesbian relationship, but the beauty who sat across from her, whose eyes seemed to bore directly into her soul, was causing in her strange sensations – not unpleasant, but different – like nothing she had ever known. The strength of it all made her head swim. It was a little too scary. For some reason, she really wanted to come right out and ask Lisa if she was gay, but, she worried, that might just jeopardize or taint their developing friendship. She knew she didn't want that. Once again, life seemed to be heaping confusion upon her. After a few more moments of suddenly meaningless small talk, Jenn excused herself. "See you next class," she chirped, although she wondered if she dared. A sympathetic smile graced Lisa's lips as she said good-bye. Matt had always been the driving force in her life; especially in her – in their sex life. She had always been a sexual dependent: now she was behind the wheel. The sudden independence frightened her. Something was apparently rolling, but, not only couldn't she see where she was going, she didn't know how to steer. XVIII. Over the next few sessions Lisa began joining her class in the change rooms after class, and, more and more Jenn could feel Lisa's aura nearby – like a field of hyper-vivaciousness. The woman virtually sparkled with life. In some ways Jenn was envious, in others, pleased. Often she and Lisa ended up being last in the change room. Jenn had a slight suspicion that maybe Lisa was actually manipulating conversations and cleanup to that end. In any case, Jenn began to find herself, more often than not, alone in the showers with her instructor – her friend. There, Lisa would offer, innocently enough, to soap Jenn, who felt warm and relaxed, bathing in Lisa's attention. Lisa had become 'best girlfriend' and confidante. If, as they chatted, the sponge moved further afield, Jenn felt no need for alarm. The trailing fingertips – here a curve of a breast or hip, there a touch of a nipple – all incorporated into the conversation, just as tactile emphasis – seemed almost unconscious. A good-bye hug naturally led to a buzz on the cheek. Those modest pecks migrating to the lips had been surprising, but pleasantly so. And, even then, Jenn had allowed herself to keep believing them to be just the chaste nuances of a blossoming friendship. Nevertheless, some weeks later, when Lisa had let her fingers drop, after a particularly nice kiss, standing warm, wet and naked in the deserted shower of the Centre, she touched Jenn's clitoris. The physical stimulation of aerobics, scintillating conversation, invigorating shower and wonderful kiss had combined to set hypnotic waves of sensation rippling through Jenn's body. Her breasts had become firm under Lisa's touch; her nipples were hard; and her labia had opened like the petals of the pink flower. Intoxicated by the gentle pleasures, her trance was shattered with an unexpected violence. Jenn went off like a tightly wound clockwork. Wrapping her arms about Lisa for support, muscular spasms running rampant, Jenn unconsciously ground her pubis against Lisa's thigh, trapping the infuriating fingers. As her knees gave way, her weight fell full against Lisa causing her to stumble and pinning her against the tile wall of the stall. Head tossed back, she felt more than heard a high pitched wail rise to her lips. The apex of the orgasm soared still higher, as Lisa covered her neck and chest with passionate kisses, fingers of one hand persisting relentlessly at Jenn's snatch; the other hand over Jenn's mouth in an effort to stifle her shrieks. With a final quaking gasp, eyes closed, heart pounding, chest heaving Jenn squeezed herself tight against Lisa. She detected the let down response between her legs as her juices flowed over Lisa's still active fingers. Drained and insensate, Jenn collapsed, pulling Lisa down with her into the corner of the shower. As she came to, moments later, Lisa was gently rocking her. She couldn't believe she had actually swooned. That only happened in stories, didn't it? Tangled Passions Pt. 02 Ch. 17-19 They toweled off and dressed in a silent mist. Jenn's head reeled. Something had changed – a point of view, a concept, a feeling. Jenn felt like she'd been ambushed – ambushed by lust. And it had apparently happened without warning, without preliminaries, so very fast. She was terrified and euphoric. She couldn't look at Lisa as she gathered her belongings. "I think I'd better go home," Jenn muttered. Lisa replied brightly, "See you," and sat motionless on the bench watching as Jenn shuffled out. Until then Jenn had never had sex with anyone other than Matt – her dating and necking experiences prior to Matt had been very, very limited. She needed a bit of time to make sense of what had occurred – to put it all in order. Even as she made her way home, her mind tumbling with images, she realized that maybe there had been warnings; maybe it wasn't all so sudden – shouldn't have been so unexpected. She had accepted Lisa's attention willingly – appreciatively. It had been the next logical step. And certainly it was she herself that went off, as it were. She re-examined her thoughts and feelings. No, she didn't feel violated; she didn't feel dirty. She felt frightened, maybe, – cautious, but happy. No – even out of the steamy atmosphere of the shower, there was still no regret, no need for shame. Back home, she recovered a mickey of vodka – her vodka – that she had left with a highball glass ages ago in a corner of the deep freeze. Collapsing into the comforting embrace of Matt's recliner, she poured her drink, closed her eyes, and began to sip the ice-cold vodka straight from its frosted glass. The chilling viscous liquid trickled down her throat, its cold fire burning like tongues of arctic lava. A quiet sort of delighted anticipation began to simmer. By mutual, yet tacit agreement, they didn't immediately repeat the encounter. Jenn casually avoided being last showered or dressed; however, she continued to wait for Lisa after every class. They chatted, and went for coffee, exactly as before. They talked of plans and experiences as if nothing physical had happened between them. Gradually, subtly, though, their shared attraction, the undeniable magnetism existing between them, surmounted Jenn's unconscious objections. Exchanged pats and strokes progressed to hugs and buzzes. Jenn's temporary taboo on showering together slowly became meaningless. Their companionship gently glided out beyond the evenings of aerobics, to add sparkle to an occasional afternoon or weekend. And, in this way, their relationship took on a smooth tranquility. For Jenn, it developed a depth of friendship and support she rapidly came to rely on. Jenn observed to Lisa, one day over coffee, that her life was changing very – frighteningly – rapidly. Six months earlier she could never even have imagined being separated, let alone having had gay sex with her aerobics instructor. And suddenly she could mention it as matter-of-factly as if it wasn't anything secret or tawdry. Perhaps it needn't ever have been so. "My life is in an uproar," she added rhetorically, staring distantly into the sky of Lisa's eyes. "And where am I going so fast?" "How can you ever know?" Lisa's reply was puzzlingly prophetic. Jenn woke up suddenly and completely. She was in someone else's room; it was a woman's room. She could tell. It was not the room of another couple, with its eclectic mix of accessories; it was neither a man's room, reeking of masculinity, nor the sterile anonymity of a motel. It was most definitely a woman's room. Of course it was. Lying beside her was indeed a woman; her naked tanned smoothness half exposed beneath the crumpled sheets. It was Lisa; and this was her bed; here, with Jenn greeting the morning from it. Slowly the memories of the previous evening flowed over and through Jenn. She hadn't heard a word from Matt in weeks. Tangibly grieved, she had explained the reason for her funk to Lisa, as they entered the shower together, once again. Jenn thought about Lisa's sympathetic concern, and the kisses she had rained over her to – as she had poetically explained – wash away the pain. It had been almost a carbon copy of that very first time, except last night Jenn hadn't been quite so passive. She thought about them coming out of the shower, panting and dazed. After Lisa had helped her dress, they had gone back to Lisa's apartment. "To catch your breath," she had said with an impish grin, adding, "I'm not so sure you should drive right now anyway." Jenn had allowed herself to be driven in her own car, the short distance to Lisa's home. Lisa's suite was alone on the top floor of a sprawling four level complex. Nestled in the warren of apartments that made up the Cameron/Government area adjacent to Lougheed, her place was just one of the modern, rambling blocks gathered at the feet of the towering high-rises that forested the area. It was, ironically, very close to the apartment Dara had occupied when Matt had first met her. Whether or not she was there yet remained unknown. Nonetheless, unlike Dara's bright open suite, Lisa was required to ensure her privacy by keeping her drapes drawn, as the residents of neighbouring buildings could otherwise look over and down into her living quarters with relative ease. The diffused light through the thin, drawn sheers lent a soft security to the dim comfort of the room. The thick, heavy drapes that hung open from a second track could be drawn to shut out all light and even offer a reasonable degree of sound insulation when necessary. Padding behind Lisa, quietly through the suite to the bedroom, Jenn had flopped down in a sort of thrilling, frightening, dazed confusion. That old Led Zeppelin song flitted through her thoughts. "Been dazed and confused for so long it's not true.” Lisa's cooing kisses and nuzzling embrace had been insistent. "Oh, little woman, never bargained for you." Jenn remembered her own feeble, halfhearted protests becoming tentative replies. She remembered Lisa's skillful fingers burrowing down into her pants, easily reaching the still dampened grotto between her legs, and bringing her so easily to the rush of yet another all-encompassing climax. That was what had surprised her those weeks and months ago, she recalled, when Matt had started becoming so much more aggressive in their sex. She had sort of realized, even then, that she liked it when someone else took control. When the intercourse was no longer under her control – and it seemed, curiously, the less control she had, the better – she actually enjoyed it more. It was strange, but strangely true. She thought, too, of her own novice fingers, exploring Lisa's sex, trying to replicate what she had felt Lisa do to her, indeed what she had often done to herself, nights alone. Clumsiness and fumbling notwithstanding, Lisa had climaxed violently on Jenn’s fingers, splashing her hand with copious secretions. Then she thought of the kisses and murmurs they had exchanged as they faded into the welcome oblivion of sleep. Now Jenn was awake; really awake; Lisa slept blissfully beside her. Something she had done to Matt a long while ago flashed through her mind. It had been during some particularly imaginative foreplay, she remembered. She had sucked on his fingers like they were each a tiny cock. At the time, it had seemed so lewd – so titillating and naughty. She quickly put aside all thoughts of Matt, but allowed the reminiscence of the act to remain briefly. A sly grin spread across her face. Very gently, she took Lisa's sleeping hand and raised it ever so slowly to her lips. First she kissed each fingertip, then she began softly nibbling on them. Soon she was sucking them, engulfing each finger, one by one, pumping it gently in and out of her mouth – tonguing one like a small semi-rigid cock. After she felt she had completely worked one hand, she gently reached for the other, bringing it to her soft lips and giving each of those fingers the same treatment. Lisa appeared to be struggling to remain asleep during the onslaught of caress. The beatific smile on her face spoke of pleasant dreams – too pleasant to relinquish, yet, to consciousness. As Jenn continued to felate Lisa's fingers, she could just detect some almost imperceptible shimmers of tension trickling through Lisa. She could just detect some complementary shimmers of her own. Slowly, like a child who's got up early and is out before anyone else, exploring places where she's not sure she's allowed, Jenn gently put down Lisa's hand to rise up on her own hands and knees. She turned herself around, taking great care not to disturb Lisa, and positioned her face above Lisa's feet. Lowering herself gently, she began to caress each toe with her lips and tongue. She could feel the tremors run along Lisa's legs and she could feel the tingling sensations of early arousal begin to flash between her own. She continued the pseudo-felatio until she had paid homage to each toe, then she inched her lips up the trembling legs, her tongue dancing between them, moving tentatively, like a child creeping into a forbidden cellar. Backing up the bed, still on her hands and knees, she allowed her fingertips to dandle up alongside her kisses as she slowly ascended along Lisa's thighs. Jenn's fingers seemed to automatically spread the smooth, pale thighs as her tongue, as if drawn by some magnetic attraction, poked and stroked deeper and higher between them, until it darted, on its own accord, up along Lisa's labia to circle her clitoris. Quivering bolts of raw pleasure ran from the tip of Jenn's tongue directly to her own clit, inflaming her with desire. Jenn felt the intensity of Lisa's arousal as her hips began to shake and lift off the bed, her clitoris stood suddenly firm and her labia opened, warm and full, like a blossom. No longer in complete control, Jenn attacked wildly, like a starving beast, her lips and tongue whipped and nipped the ever-dampening sex. Lisa threw a groggy arm over Jenn's waist and shuffled her head beneath a knee. Jenn's own arousal was obvious; her vulva was pink and swollen, its puffy lips surrounding a vagina that drooled like a gaping mouth. Lisa brought Jenn's vulva to her own lips with a firm pull against her lower back. Jenn exploded into her first climax of the morning the moment Lisa's tongue touched her clitoris. She soaked Lisa's face as her orgasmic fluids gushed from within. Crying out, she raised her head from Lisa's quim, unable to attend to it and the throes of her own climax at the same time. She thrust herself down hard on Lisa's face and tongue. Suddenly, in a move so fast as to be the envy of even a good wrestler, Jenn found herself completely underneath Lisa. Lisa's mouth was still connected to Jenn's sex, squeezing more coos and sighs out of her. Jenn felt Lisa's knees splay and watched as the furry nest, wet with her own saliva descended on her. It was not long before the rhythm of Lisa's hips changed from the constancy of arousal to the violence of crisis. Her rigid body flattened Jenn onto the bed as Lisa let shriek escape through the muffling effect of Jenn's bush. Although Lisa’s orgasm was tremendous, she continued, relentless in her stimulation of Jenn, stroking aggressively. And before Lisa reached denouement, she had coaxed yet another climax from Jenn. This time Jenn managed to keep her tongue active throughout – sucking and biting and caressing. They fed off one another, rolling from peak to peak, alternating between violent urgency and gentle serenity. It seemed like hours – or years. XIX. Soon Jenn was spending frequent nights with Lisa. She couldn't decide if it was love, infatuation, or simply release; but, whatever it was, it was sure something. The magic of that first encounter in the shower still amazed her. She would occasionally reminisce about earlier times, but thoughts and memories of Matt were disturbing and painful. Mainly she kept them shut away in worry-proof compartments in the back corners of her mind, along with images of the girls. It was easier – happier – to think only about her time with Lisa – to think about Lisa. The mane of thick yellow blonde hair cascading to her shoulders; her vividly blue eyes that glittered with a heated seduction. Jenn wouldn't allow herself to consider feeling guilty about what she was doing, nevertheless, she would often rerun memories of the first few nights with Lisa through her head, as if she were looking for clues to something – but she didn't know what. She began to wonder how satisfied with Matt she had ever really been. Certainly she had loved him, of that she had no doubt, but sexually she was not so sure now that they had been exactly in tune. Sure she had always loved sex with him but some of the responses she had with Lisa made her orgasms with Matt pale in comparison. Ignorance was bliss, but she couldn't change the reality. She would not even try. Maybe, in the final analysis, she and Matt had always been better friends than lovers. Jenn and Lisa began to spend more and more time together. Although they both still worked, most of their off hours were spent in one another’s company. Hours were consumed over coffee, learning and sharing secrets. Lisa admitted to being blatantly self-indulgent. She had always been willing to try anything new and exciting. She knew what she liked and went after what she wanted. She told Jenn that she always had and still did. Calling herself a crass materialist, she explained how she loved the feeling of ownership. She didn't need to flaunt her possessions or parade them, she just adored the concept – knowing what she had – knowing what was hers. It remained unspoken but Jenn understood and accepted that she herself was, for the present, Lisa's. Lisa reminded her constantly by keeping the relationship very tactile; she kept continually in physical contact with Jenn, even when out in public; a hand here, a pat there, touch, feel. And most nights, so it seemed, were spent in increasingly demanding sapphic love. Jenn had never realized how sheltered and middle-class her life had always been. Lisa knew of alien worlds hidden in the city – more, besides those Jenn had glimpsed on her bicycle explorations. Jenn felt her horizons rapidly expanding as Lisa took her to all kinds of bars and clubs – places she had never been, never even knew existed. One evening, they were in a semi-sleazy bar sipping beer in the dim and noisy smoke. It was a pub with a small, lighted stage at one end. Although it wasn't being used at the moment, Jenn realized it was the kind of stage on which "peelers" would do their things. As she looked around the place, a flushed smile crept onto her face. Jenn enjoyed being in this loud, exciting world – so different from what she had known before; but the smile and the heat, she knew, were mainly from Lisa's fingers dancing lightly up and down her thigh. The lights dimmed and a scruffy fellow stepped onto the stage with a mike. Surprisingly enough, the crowd hushed slightly as he began to speak. "Ladies and Gen'lemen – especially you ladies – here's your chance. It's..." The crowd began to murmur in anticipation. "Wait for it –" the man growled, "It's Amateur Hour!" The crowd cheered and whistled, as the man encouraged them with gestures and incomprehensible words in the PA. Finally, he settled the audience enough to continue. "I was given the name of our first contestant, earlier this evening. Soooo," he scanned the crowd, pausing for a moment when his eyes fell on Lisa. Jenn shivered as Lisa gave her thigh a meaningful squeeze beneath the table. "Is she really going up there?” Jenn wondered silently, taking her eyes off the barker to gaze admiringly at Lisa who watched the stage passively. "Lay-deez and gen'lemen, a warm hand for first-timer – Jenn Anderson!" Jenn's blood turned to ice as the crowd roared their anticipated approval. She whirled her gaze back to the emcee just as the paralysis of shock petrified her. Lisa took her wrist and raised her hand over her head. Slowly, woodenly, she turned and met an impish sparkle in Lisa's eyes. "Come on up here, Jenn," the host called. "Go on," Lisa whispered, "it'll be fun." "I can't," Jenn hissed through gritted teeth. "Sure you can." "I – I – how could you...?" Perspiration jumped onto her face. Her underarms were suddenly soaked. Her voice quavered and she felt she was about to cry. "I can't – really." Lisa, gently lifted Jenn to standing, as she said soothingly, "I know you can." Then, gesturing with her hand, she turned to the crowd and said in a loud voice, "Whadya think, guys?" The place exploded in whistles and cheers and shouts urging her to expose herself! Jenn's knees wobbled like jelly; she felt her bladder was about to let go; she had never felt such acute fear in her life. She stared about her, looking desperately for refuge. "Listen to that. You wouldn't want to frustrate them, now, would you?" Lisa asked in a low calm voice. She then added, "I'm counting on you, Jenn. Don't disappoint me." Suddenly Jenn pulled herself together. She straightened her shoulders and looked briefly at Lisa, giving her a brave grin, before setting her jaw and turning to the low stage. For reasons she could neither understand nor explain Jenn felt that it was very important for her not to disappoint Lisa, more important in fact than either her pride or her fear. Her mind numb, Jenn moved mechanically onto the carpeted platform that served as a stage. She turned to face the crowd and stared intently into Lisa's softly laughing eyes. Her own eyes spoke of abject horror; she felt desperately helpless – caught in circumstances so alien as to be unimaginable. As the audience began a rhythmic clapping, Lisa gave her the A-OK sign. Jenn, then, began to sway more or less to the music, of which she was only vaguely aware. The noise of the audience surged again. "Take it off!" they yelled, "Take it all off!" Although her consciousness was terrorized, her subconscious acknowledged the appreciation of the gathered patrons. Her frozen veins slowly warmed in spite of her numbed trance. Her agitation melted into insensate resignation. The dance had begun. As her movement intensified her mind reeled. Gradually, her stunned swaying built, and as she writhed to the throbbing music, kicking her shoes off, she heard a voice – clearly piercing the din – scream, "Show us yer tits!" Like being hit by a fever, her cold fear flashed white-hot. Spots danced before her eyes and she violently pulled her top over her head, baring her boobs to the smoke and the crowd and the noise. Once again, an explosion of sound detonated in the audience. Warm and terrified, she felt herself to let loose, and flew about the stage, while she fought to release the buttons on her jeans without interfering with the wild gyrating response to the overpowering music. She moved like someone possessed. Her eyes were everywhere and nowhere; although she only saw Lisa, she looked at everyone – each and every one of them. She felt herself falling into an abyss. She didn't know why she was doing it; she felt suddenly a paragon of exhibitionism. But it was all for Lisa. She dropped her jeans and tried, with only limited success, to jump out of them with losing her rhythm or her grace. Dancing back and forth across the stage, Jenn swiveled her pantied hips and cupped her breasts suggestively. The obvious appreciation of the crowd fired her growing confidence. Thrusting her sheer lace-covered mound toward the crowd, she tweaked her nipples. She felt an excitement that had been hitherto unknown to her. Sweat glistened and sprayed as she twirled. She felt like she was approaching meltdown. She had lost all inhibition – all sense of propriety and shame. Grabbing the crotch of her panties, she began to pull, and continued to do so inexorably to the spontaneous chanting of the audience. Reaching the limit of its strength, the thin material finally let go and she tore the shredded garment from her hips, tossing it nonchalantly into the erupting crowd.