Author's note: Please be forewarned that the following chapter contains acts of consensual sex between two consenting female adults. *sigh* I know, I know. 'bout time!

Chapter 10

Mel groaned, awash in inarticulate misery as she clutched the white porcelain bowl. Janice sat behind her on a short foot stool; one hand kept long, raven hair pulled back, out of harm's way, while the other grasped the chain pull. "Okay?" Nodding, Mel leaned against Janice's knee, surrendering to the pounding in her head as the water gushed and swirled, counter-clockwise down the pipes. Janice put a glass of water into her trembling hands with the simple command, "Rinse. Spit." Mel obeyed without question. Janice pulled the chain again and helped Mel to her feet.

Leaning heavily on the smaller woman, Mel whispered, "I'm sorry ‘bout your boots."

"Washed right off," replied Janice.

"And your blouse..."

"A little cold water...okay, hang on just a sec..." Steadying Mel with one hand, she hastily turned down the bed with the other. "Okay, don't get any ideas now." Leaving her charge teetering at the edge of the bed, Janice snaked her arms around Mel's waist and groped for the button at the back of the A-line skirt.

Mel put her hands on Janice's shoulders for support. "You've come to your senses at last?"

"Nope." Janice popped the snap. "Still out of my tree." She passed the skirt over shapely hips and chased its decent with her hands until it fell in a puddle at Mel's feet. "Step out...first one foot...that's good, now the - that's my girl...and she does it all without a net."

Mel sat heavily upon the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry to be so much trouble."

"Undressing you, Mel, is a lot of things, but trouble ain't one of them." Janice's hand moved deftly over the pearly buttons of the blouse, popping each with a practiced, three-fingered maneuver that was normally a prelude to more strenuous activity. She slipped the blouse from Mel's slim shoulders and glanced appreciatively at the camisole, draping tantalizing swells and curves in a fine satin sheen. "Nice. You do wonders for it."

"Wonders for what?" Mel asked groggily.

Janice rolled her eyes. "Never mind. You're too drunk to appreciate my wit."

Mel arched an eyebrow. "Maybe I'm not drunk enough."

Janice clucked her tongue, replied, "I reserve comment," and plumped a couple of down-filled pillows before sliding Mel's legs beneath the blanket. "There now, you're all set."

Mel's fingers scrunched the blanket on either side of her hips. Her attractive face could best be described as panicked...and green. "Janice..." she sucked a breath over her teeth. "...the room's spinnin'..."

"Of course, it's spinning," Janice retorted, tucking the blanket close. "Good whiskey will do that." Mel groaned, unable to appreciate the sarcasm. "Close your eyes. It helps." She stepped away to switch off the powerful overhead light in favor of the small lamp atop the dresser. The 40 watt bulb beneath a natty fringed shade cast the room in a soft yellow light more conducive to sleep. Kneeling beside the bed, she stroked Mel's pinched brow. "Better?"

Mel shook her head miserably and threw one arm over her eyes. "Shoot me, Janice, just shoot me now."

Janice laughed and kissed Mel's forehead. "Oh, no no...I have plans for you, Melinda Pappas."

Mel peeked out with one eye and conjured up the hint of a smile. "At last, a reason to live."

Janice left her there, half-asleep in the half-dark, a few minutes later. She kept the bedroom door open a few inches, in the event Mel should call for her, and padded quietly down the hall and into the kitchen. The scene awaiting her was tantamount to a battlefield: dirty dishes, pots and pans, food left on a cluttered table. Who knew that two people could generate such chaos? "No wonder I eat take out so often."

She tied the apron loosely about her waist and went to work clearing the table of leftovers. She didn't play favorites; everything from vegetables to sweet breads went to the ice box , although she found room in her full stomach for the last of the black olives, simply because they reminded her of Athens, and Mel. She washed and dried the dinner dishes and made a half-hearted attempt to scrub clean a particularly dirty roasting pan before finally consigning it to soak overnight in soapy water. When she looked up at the old clock on the wall, she was surprised to see that it was nearly nine in the evening. "Time. It do fly," she quipped, mildly startled by the sound of her own voice in the large, unnaturally quiet house. While her hands were clean and dry she opened the phonograph and carefully re-sheathed the Billie Holiday LP; she suspected it wouldn't see further play in her absence. Small minds, she mused.

She turned, bundling the crumb-strewn table cloth by its corners. As she prepared to shake it out, she pondered how long to let Mel sleep, while at the same time contemplating the merits of simply weaving her arms and legs into that lanky frame and drifting off to sleep herself. There was another, less pleasant option which consisted of two fingers of whiskey, a good book and her feet up. The sole benefit of this scenario was that it required no explanation to an inquisitive child arriving home unexpectedly.

She opened the back door with the toe of her boot and flung out the linen, shaking it by two corners and finally draping it over one arm as she stood in the open doorway, enjoying the night air - wattles in bloom, and dingoes, and the windmill rods pumping hard in the cool evening breeze. Tossing the table cloth over the back of a chair, she stepped outside, closing the door behind her. The moon was just peeking over the backbone of the roof, shedding pale light across the yard, onto the bleached rail fence and the crude clothes line strung between the fence and the porch. She recognized her jodhpurs, still heavy with water, hanging limply from the line; by contrast, her white blouse and brassiere greeted her with an obscene wave. She fished inside the blouse's breast pocket with two fingers, seeking the cigar she had earlier secreted there, but came up empty. She muttered an oath and slung the blouse and brassiere over her shoulder just as something slithered, to papery effect, through the tall saw grass just beyond her line of sight; she was not inclined to investigate. Instead, she backpedaled towards the house nonchalantly, affecting a shiver, as if the departure had more to do with the brisk northerly wind than any creepy crawler, real or imagined.

Inside the house, the temperature had dropped to a cool 65 degrees, only slightly warmer than the air outside. Dropping the blouse and brassiere on the table, she slipped into the familiar warmth of her leather jacket as she left the kitchen to check on Mel. She glanced through the four inch gap without touching the knob, because the bedroom door had the tendency to squeak. Mel lay facing her, a large pillow crushed to her chest by her long, slim arms. Her lips, slightly parted, breathed softly into the linen. A corner of the pillow lay trapped between the mattress and one exposed thigh. Janice's knees went weak; she had never wanted to be a pillow so badly in all her life. Down, girl. Turning to leave, she gave the luscious vision one last glance. Think baseball, baseball!

In the living room, she took a moment to peruse the rather impressive library Jack Greenway had amassed over the years - Hemingway, W.B. Yeats, Mark Twain - literary luminaries sandwiched between lesser-known local authors. She squinted at the spines of a set of technical digests, sounding out the titles aloud. "Secrets of Night Bass Fishing...Fly Casting and How to Tie Them...How to Land a Trophy Fish." She sighed heavily. Makes sense. What else would a land-locked man do but dream of fish? In the end, she selected Death in the Afternoon and adjourned to the glider on the verandah. She poured herself a drink, crossed her ankles atop the low wicker table and opened the book, flipping past the acknowledgments. But the whiskey, Hemingway's laconic writing style and 30 hours without sleep all combined with predictable effect. She surrendered to sleep before the first bull was bloodied.

Mel found her there sometime later, recumbent on the glider, the book tented open on her chest and an empty tumbler dangling precariously from her slackening fingers. From her place in the open doorway, the tall Southerner watched with a stillness she had forgotten; it occurred to her that Janice appeared younger when asleep. Her normally expressive face was cherubic and unlined, her full lips drawn into a strange little smile that was both innocent and provocative. Mel approached for a closer scrutiny, the bed sheet she had draped over her shoulders for warmth whispered against her bare legs as she walked. She rescued the tumbler from certain disaster and carefully extracted the volume of Hemingway, glancing at the title before laying it aside. Janice lay ripe for the picking. Sleeping Beauty. Once the analogy was in her head, Mel had no choice but to content herself with a single kiss, feather-light upon warm lips which fell open like the petals of a rose.

"Nice," Janice murmured, without opening her eyes. "But just one?"

"You were asleep," Mel retorted. "Give me credit for a little restraint." She pulled the sheet close around her and withdrew until her back was against a cool support post. "Pleasant dreams?"

"Very." Affecting nonchalance, Janice folded her trembling hands in her lap, but she could do little to calm the wild beating of her heart. Content in what seemed to be mutual appreciation, pale green eyes moved over an impressive physique every bit deserving of such patient scrutiny. The bed sheet, pale as Mel's pale skin, alternately clinging or draping at the whim of the wind, gave her the appearance of a living Greek sculpture. And it was all hers for the asking, once she found her voice. Anticipation was a powerful aphrodisiac, yet she was so unaccustomed to the feeling that it presented as pain. "You must be cold in that," she said at last.

"Just the opposite." Mel relaxed her grip and the sheet slipped down to reveal a bare shoulder. She dropped her voice an octave, drawing the slow, sensual tones from her throat like a weapon. "I'm very warm."

There was a hint of delicious friction as Janice uncrossed her ankles and stood. Over the noise of her blood, she heard herself say, "You look like you're feeling better."

"I'm sober as a judge, if that's what you mean," Mel replied. A small smile turned up the corners of her lips. "I'm not drunk, and you're not dreamin'...although I could pinch you if you like."

Janice raised an eyebrow. "Maybe later."

"Are you glued to that chair?" Janice erupted in a chuckle of nervous laughter that Mel found endearing. "What's the matter? More afraid of peace than war?"

"What would you like me to do, Mel?" Ohh, there's a loaded question.

"This is a seduction, Dr. Covington." Mel opened her fist and the sheet slid from her shoulders, over the soft roundness of her hips and the bared violin curve of her waist until she was standing before Janice nude. "Use your imagination."

Possessed of a vivid imagination, Janice cut the space between them without delay, pinning Mel roughly against the clapboards of the house. Immersing her hands in loose raven tresses, she crushed Mel's mouth to her own in a kiss that was part passion, part combat, and all surrender. She felt hands at her face, on her breasts in what seemed a frenzied grope while her own hands roamed, mapping the landscape of her lover's body. Mel was peaks - oh, what wonderful, pebbly peaks that stirred beneath her touch - and valleys... her left hand skimmed the flat plane of an abdomen, stroked the silky, damp nest of curls below and drew one long forefinger through the wetness before coming to rest on a high, hard nub of flesh.

"Oh..." Mel's body froze at a peak. "There..." she murmured against Janice's neck. "...right ...there....oh...ohmy..." she groaned. She used the pleasure pulsing through her body in waves to fuel her own exploration, trading skin for leather as she worked the jacket from Janice's body. "One of us..." she gasped. "...is over-dressed."

Janice answered the complaint with a deep kiss as she shucked off the jacket, flinging it carelessly aside in the rush to maintain crucial momentum. Tangled in Mel's grasping arms, she was groping for the buttons on her slacks when the howl of a dingo filtered through the blood pounding in her ears. So close. "Jeeze...that sounded close."

"Just a dingo..." Mel muttered breathlessly as she pushed the khakis down over Janice's hips. She seized handfuls of the white blouse, impatiently bypassing the buttons, choosing instead to ruck the material up and over her lover's head, exposing ample, round breasts. "Oh, God," she crooned. "I love your body." She was sure she growled as she fell upon the deliciously swelling flesh, ringing the aureola inside her warm, wet lips while her tongue danced unseen over an erect nipple. Janice's groan of satisfaction was unmistakable. "So perfect..." Mel murmured as she peppered the washboard stomach with tiny, nipping kisses, and swirled her tongue in and around Janice's navel. Accomplishing all of this while standing was awkward; even in bare feet she towered a full six inches above Janice's head. She scanned the plank floor at her feet for obstructions and was preparing to take their lovemaking to an entirely new level when she felt Janice stiffen in her arms. Mel's voice was a mixture of dread and disbelief. "Janice Covington, don't you dare! Not yet...not without me!"

Janice was too preoccupied to be offended. She dipped and hitched up her slacks. "We can't do this, Mel...not here."

"Why? Are you cold? C'mere," she coaxed. Her hands cupped Janice's backside, drawing their bodies together once more. "Lemme warm you..."

Janice reluctantly peeled herself away. "I swear, Mel, you've got more arms than Vishnu! Have you forgotten about Alice?"

"Alice." Mel shivered, the sweat on her body beginning to cool in the night air.

"Yeah. Thirteen, bright but impressionable? That Alice." Janice squinted into the surrounding blackness. "What if she were to come home and walk up on this...this anatomy lesson?! Have you thought about that?"

Mel crossed her arms and grinning, replied, "Not once." She secretly wished for her glasses; the shock on Janice's face was, no doubt, priceless.

"Where's my shirt? Criminy, Mel...put something on, will ya? You're distracting me!"

"Relax, Janice," Mel cooed, plucking the rumpled white blouse from a wattle branch. "It's just you and me."

Janice snatched the blouse from Mel's extended fingertips. "Thank you!" she snapped. "You know, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were enjoying this."

Mel retorted, "I was, up until a minute ago."

Janice narrowed her eyes and sputtered, "You know what I'm talking about. God dammit, where're the buttons on this thing!?"

Mel suppressed a giggle. "You have it on inside out. May I just say one teensy tiny little thing?"

Janice dropped her hands to her side and exhaled wearily. "What?"

There was a moment of anticipatory silence before Mel announced, "Alice is staying the night with her friend. We have the house to ourselves."

"Oh." Janice shifted where she stood; there was nothing worse than a thoroughly wasted tantrum. "You knew that all along but you let me get dressed again."

Mel approached her in a sensuous stroll. "Only because it's such fun undressin' you. Now," she said, "Why don't we see if we can't find a way to re-direct all that misplaced energy of yours." She drew her closer with one hand while the other skimmed a bare midriff on its way south.

Janice captured Mel's lips with her own as fingers moved against her pleasantly aching flesh. As her hips rose to the caress of a skillful hand, she sucked in her breath, absolutely light-headed with pleasure. "Oh, God, Mel...that curls my toes..."

Mel responded by wiggling her thumb; Janice shuddered and squeezed her eyes shut. "I have many skills."

"How f-fortunate for me," Janice sighed and surrendered to gravity.